


Remake My Ruined Life

by buttercups3, lovesrogue36



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Art History, Epistolary, F/M, Letters, M/M, Multi, Philadelphia, Toronto, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In winter 2021, Philadelphia-captive Rachel exchanged a series of letters with General Matheson during his thwarted campaign in Toronto, Canada. Unaware that Rachel had forged a secret pact with President Monroe, Miles would soon learn that behind the lust and boredom of their intimate correspondence lurked a darker purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. February 3, 2021

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: All right, folks, this is an experiment. Rachel's letters are written by lovesrogue36/carlier36. Miles' letters are written by buttercups3.
> 
> Chapters 1 and 2 are currently about a T rating but we'll get to the E rating soon enough.
> 
> Title taken from: "Do remake my ruined life for me, and then our friendship and love will have a different meaning to the world." - Oscar Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas

Attn: General Matheson, Occupied Toronto

Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
February 3, 2021

Dear Miles,

After so many months of silence, I hesitated to write but the heavy snowfall has made me lonely for better company than Bass. He grows more and more irritable and paranoid every day you’re gone. His personal guard, Captain Lennox, owes me for manufacturing an antitoxin for his son’s diphtheria last winter or I wouldn’t even be able to get this letter sent without Bass poring over it for clues or some nonsense. As absurd as it sounds, you’re a steadying influence on him.

The snow would be up to my ankles I think, if I were allowed outside, though I imagine the weather is hardly better in Toronto. Most days I sit huddled by the hearth with a book I’ve read a thousand times already. The snow is more oppressive than Bass. On the very coldest nights, he comes upstairs through his office and into my room, and we sit by the fire without speaking. Much to your chagrin, I’m sure, he rarely even asks after Ben anymore, though I’m not optimistic enough to believe either of you has given up your quest for power. He is downright melancholy; I think he misses you terribly. No, I don’t have to think about it: it’s quite clear.

Come home soon.

You have no idea how much I hate that word: home. How much I hate that Philadelphia could possibly be home. But with only these four walls and the occasional foray into Bass’ office when no one is around, my world is narrowed to crumbs of intrigue and whatever obscure books he bothers to bring me.

Tell me about Toronto. I visited once, in undergrad, for an alternative energy symposium. Though I remember it being beautiful, I think I saw more of my hotel room and the microbrewery across the street than I did of the city.

Sitting here by the window, I can’t help wishing winter were over, so you could bring your men home. Their families miss them far more than I miss you and I’m not too proud to admit I do miss you. My loneliness is nothing beside Bass’ though: for one thing, I don’t have the ability or desire to take my funk out on the innocent populace. He needs you home; there isn’t anything more than the weather keeping you away, is there? You’ve been gone so many months. I never thought Miles Matheson would be the voice of reason in any room, but even Jeremy seems weary of Bass these days.

Address your letters to Captain Lennox, Independence Hall, and he’ll be sure to get them to me.

R. Matheson

 


	2. February 14, 2021

Captain W. Lennox  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
Monroe Republic

February 14, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

Dear Rachel:

Needless to say I was surprised to hear from you, but also pleased. It’s cold and dark in Toronto, and while your snow sounds sort of pretty, ours is just a reminder that we’re stuck in this city till spring thaw. Anyway, it’s nice to hear news from home. Philly’s not such a bad place, Rachel. When the officers’ wives deck out their windows with candles and hang those wreathes with the fancy bows for the holidays? I spent this Christmas eating gruel and shitting my guts out from dysentery. A big army like this poisons local water faster than you’d believe. Sorry, you probably didn’t want to know that.

So it sounds like you’re spending a lot of time with Bass. I know how he gets, but what did you mean that he’d search your letter for clues? I know he’s pissed we got socked in here. He thinks I’ve lost Canada already, but I haven’t. Maybe if Bass had gotten his thumb out of his ass to send us ordnance and food last fall we’d be in Montreal by now, but…oh I suppose you don’t want to hear about that stuff. Well, I haven’t given him a report in a while, so I guess I will when I’m done with this letter.

You want to know our setup in Toronto? It’s kind of odd actually. Canadians are weirdly protective of their art, so the largest intact building we found downtown for headquarters is the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO.) I’m trying to keep as much of my army inside the building as possible, since it’s perpetually zero degrees outside. Still, there are constant reports of frostbite. I sleep in this giant hall of windows that looks like you’re in the transparent belly of a ship. It’s kind of an awesome spot to watch the snowfall, but the glass makes it even colder. Speaking of that, this building has no fireplaces, of course, so we all keep warm by trashcan fire. I feel kind of bad when the boys burn the art. This building is crazy, Rache. There are these giant, winding staircases that disappear into the ceiling. They remind me of fruit rollups, and then I get hungry. Did I mention we’ve had nothing but wheat gruel for three months straight? Maybe you can get on that asshole Bass for supplies. I bet he’s having bacon for breakfast everyday. Dick.

Anyway, there’s a little competition among the boys to come up with the most juvenile alternative for the acronym AGO. I pretend I’m above it, but honestly, every second I don’t spend wondering how to keep my men fed, I’m thinking about how I’m freezing my balls off. So it’s a nice distraction. I think my favorite so far is: Aggressive Gastrointestinal Output (given my recent expertise on the subject.) I’ll keep you updated on their progress.

I didn’t realize I’d written so much. Really, war is the most boring thing on earth punctuated by occasional fireworks. Hearing from you and writing you is surprisingly nice. Maybe we could keep it up?

I can see from the date that it’s Valentine’s Day, and since you said you’re lacking in reading material, I’ve included this Permanent Collection Catalog from the museum shop as a little gift. The painting on page 42 reminds me a bit of you for some reason (maybe Valentine’s Day is going to my head?). Even though Jim gives me hell about the painting, I keep it nearby.

I wish to God I were in Philly with you, Rachel. But only Bass can order us home. You could remind him of that.

I hope to hear from you soon,

Miles

 

The painting on pg 42: Woman at the Bath, Edgar Degas

  
General Matheson's Quarters in AGO

 


	3. February 22, 2021

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

February 22, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

Philly’s no doubt a beautiful place to live if you’re free. I’m trapped here. The view out my windows is covered in frost and, objectively, it’s stunning but bittersweet. I haven’t felt the cold on my face in so long, Miles. We don’t realize the things we take for granted. Can you really ask me to love my jail cell?

You asked what I meant about Bass searching my letter for clues: you don’t understand the level his paranoia has reached. He grumbles to me about your lack of success in Canada as if you had intentionally dragged your feet in September and October. Bass trusts no one and I can’t help but wonder if that extends to you. He only tells me what’s on his mind because he knows I have no one to tell (and I’m available when he’s drunk.) I hate to admit how much I wish you were here. More than that, I wish I had some pull with him. He only listens when he’s passed out, I think.

I was surprised to hear you’re camped in a museum. It sounds beautiful, if cold, especially your room. I always had this romantic idea about my Marine on the bow of a ship. Wish you could send me a photo. The slight change of scenery would be wonderful. Your gift was much appreciated; I never had an eye for art but it’s broken some of the monotony. I’ve spent all day poring over it. It’s a shame to have to destroy any of these beautiful pieces to keep warm. Your Degas on page 42 has held my attention the longest. It’s… incredible. Is that really how you see me? After so long with only a hand mirror, I’m not even sure what I look like head to toe.

The snow has turned to rain today. Though I usually love the rain, it’s making the city dreary and it matches my mood. How do you pass the days with a bored army? Over a year in this room and I’m no closer to coping with the mind-numbing boredom. I can’t tear myself away from this painting, not knowing what you think of me when you see it. Just how near have you been keeping it? I’ve tucked your letter between pages 41 and 42 and hidden the book in my dresser. Bass is irrationally nosy but even he doesn’t get into my underwear drawer.

Happy Belated Valentine’s Day, Miles. (I don’t miss Hallmark but I do miss sweetheart candies.)

R. Matheson

 

 


	4. February 28, 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The phrase that appears struck through below was actually heavily scratched out by Miles, and yet with close study, Rachel is still able to discern it. ;)

Captain Lennox  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
Monroe Republic

February 28, 2021 

Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

Dear Rachel:

Yes, you’re a prisoner in the richest, securest city in the Monroe Republic. And when you’re eating your steak and drinking your wine, remember that you came to me. Or did you forget that I asked for Ben instead? You know how to set yourself free, Rachel. It’s really a simple solution to a simple problem, only you’re stubborn as hell.

I don’t know what you think you know about me and Bass, but stay out of it. I’m “intentionally dragging my feet” on this campaign? Is running out of ammo and watching your men half starve to death dilly-dallying? You don’t know the first thing about fielding an army. My supplylines are along overgrown highways and waterways, for Christ’s sake. And we’re worn the fuck out. Last spring it was Virginia, the fall before that, the Plains. I know what you’re thinking: just stop. But these people want to annihilate us, Rachel. I’ve seen Plains’ tribes rip out the hearts of their victims – little kids, even – and eat them, blood smeared on their teeth. Real Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom type shit. So don’t pretend like you know what’s going on here. And Bass can go fuck himself if he sends us on one more campaign without a chance to rest and replenish the ranks. I started this campaign with 5,000 men. You want to know how many I have now, Rachel? 3,454.

Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for this letter to be so hostile. I just…I can’t do anything about your situation or about Bass from here. Bass does worry me, ok? I’m never quite sure what will set him off or how far he’ll go. When you said that Bass passes out in your room, what did you mean exactly? He sleeps by you? Do you want me to write him and tell him to stay away? Hell, he won’t listen. He already thinks I’m too protective of you.

You asked about that painting – the one with the woman bathing – and why she reminds me of you. I think it’s just the slope of her hip, the way she dangles over the tub. So soft and warm looking, and that’s what I remember most about you. The way you felt ~~from the inside~~. I don’t know. It’s kind of embarrassing to explain. She sleeps at the head of my bedroll and your first letter under my pillow. Well, that one’s almost disintegrated now. I’m glad to have a new one. You keep my letter in your underwear drawer? I’m sure it’s happy there.

I know I’ve been a bit of an ass this letter. To be honest, the Canada campaign has been very hard on me. Please write again soon.

Miles

p.s. It’s not a sweetheart candy, but I thought you might like this heart. I always carry a few good luck charms to war (not that I really believe in that crap) but…anyway, you can keep this one.


	5. March 6, 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: We're not quite up to the E rating but this one hits a mild M.

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

March 6, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

A prisoner in the finest, most luxurious palace in the world is still a prisoner. Don’t you dare try to tell me I should be happy with my situation. The war clans in the Plains certainly aren’t organized enough to attack the Monroe Republic and the Canadians preserved their _museums_ over their army. None of your so-called enemies are going to annihilate us anytime soon. After two years, you should know very well I’m not going to give you the power to kill more people. Keeping me here is an exercise in futility.

That said, I don’t mean to undermine your sacrifices. Sitting here with your purple heart in my hand, I’m moved in a way I don’t think I would have been before the Blackout. The idea of you presented with this terrifies me somehow. This war is more real than the Middle East ever was; the nights I’m not dreaming of my family, I dream of you frozen to death in the snow. I never appreciated your service the way I should have. I want you home, away from the front. Bass wants you home. It eludes me why he wouldn’t just order you back. What is so important in Canada that you would both sacrifice so much for it?

Bass is always nearby. With his office attached to my room, I’m at his disposal whenever he wants me. He owns my time but at least he’s company, even in the middle of the night. Don’t write him, not about that: the days he ignores me are so much worse, so long and lonely. I must have sat in bed and read your first letter a thousand times in the past week. You don’t know how much you’ve kept me company lately, although it sounds as if you’ve kept my letters rather close too.

I know you tried to scratch it out but you really should have started over if you didn’t want me to see it: you think about what it was like to be inside me? You said you’ve kept the Degas by your bed. Do you lie there at night and look at her, thinking of me? How many times have you come into my letter, imagining her naked body is mine? Tell me, Miles, please. You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s not as if I don’t think about you too. About the way it felt to have you inside me.

I thought about you this morning in the bath, this painting in the back of my head, wishing you were here to wash my hair, your hands slick with soap on my body. I know how to be efficient with myself but my hands are too small and soft to pretend they are yours. God, I wish you could touch me now. There was never anything quite like your calloused hands on my jaw when we kissed. On my breast.

Don’t you want to hear how I touch myself at night when I think of you, when Bass is asleep and the fire is low? What I imagine you doing to me? I don’t mean to push you but we both know you’re as lonely as I am. We have nothing to be ashamed of. If you’re going to play this game, I want your commitment on paper. I’ve been vulnerable before you enough for ten lifetimes, Miles. Can’t you be vulnerable for me?

Rachel


	6. March 15, 2021

Captain W. Lennox  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
Monroe Republic

March 15, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

Dear Rachel:

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to your letter, so you'll forgive me if this reply is a bit late in coming. First off, I didn't know you were such an expert on the Plains Nation. You been recently? Should I let Bass know to look for your family there? Or is this just the usual Rachel omniscience? Because the president and commanding general of your country couldn't possibly know more about foreign relations than you. My bad.

You keep pressing me on why Canada, but there's only so much I can tell you. It didn't start as a military conquest, for one thing. We needed access to the fisheries in Nova Scotia, or we'd have suffered a food shortage this winter in the Republic. Diplomacy failed so...this. Anyway, the east coast leg of the campaign went well enough, and from there we decided to push Canada on the interior fur trade - you know, show them you can't edge out the Monroe Republic from the North American market without consequences. But things went to hell, ok? I haven't exactly told Bass why yet, so I'm certainly not about to tell you.

That purple heart is Bass'. I know it's sappy as hell, but he carries all mine and I carry all his, so that, oh I don't know, we remember we're always looking out for each other? We're idiots. Speaking of, you're torturing me here - what do you mean you're at Bass' disposal? And when you say he's nearby and you're touching yourself, you don't...do that in front of him, do you? He's a horny bastard. If he touches you, I'll kill him.

Alright so...speaking of horny, I just don't know what you want from me. I'm not good with words. I really enjoy your letters, yes, in the way you imagine, although after I ruined the first one I wizened up knowing I wouldn't get another for a week. It's hard to find privacy here, and it's so cold I can't even, you know, take it all the way out. You've made a mess of me, especially since unlike you I can't bathe. I do want to hear about you touching yourself. God, picturing you all slippery and wet...see I'm bad at this. Do you put your fingers inside yourself when you come? Shit, Rachel. Every time I think of you, which is all the time, I get so hard I ache. I have to toss myself so many times a day, it's a real distraction.

Is that vulnerable enough for you? Look, stay away from Bass. You think you know him - you think you know everything. But one day, you'll find yourself in over your head and I won't be able to help.

Write more soon. Please.

Miles

  
See below for explanation

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In regards to the adorable miniature cannon above: Over the course of writing this letter, Miles had to ask Jim how to spell omniscience, and Jim's eyes nearly rolled out of his head. It launched a prolonged, spirited argument in which Jim lamented, "Why are stupid white people always in charge of me?" and Miles rejoined, "I don't know why in general, but I'm specifically in charge of you because I'm prettier than you," to which Jim responded, "Oh, so that's why you haven't been able to take your hand out of your pants for more than two minutes at a time," at which point Miles grabbed for the nearest projectile, which happened to be a golden, model cannon, and flung it at Jim's head. (Jim's fine; he ducked.)


	7. March 21, 2021

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

March 21, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

Your sarcasm is less effective when I know very well you’re thinking about me naked. Bass is delusional about the borders. I don’t have to be in the Plains Nations to know that they aren’t a threat the way he claims. For that matter, don’t give me any of your nationalistic shit: this is not my country and he is not my president. That doesn’t mean we should have rebuilt the government that failed us but the two of you were certainly not the answer.

You shouldn’t keep things from him, Miles. He’s suspicious of everyone and everything and that doesn’t exclude you anymore. I can’t imagine what he might do if he’s convinced you’re hiding the truth from him. Even what he might do to me for it: I’m a constant reminder of your absence. Whenever he’s angry with you, it’s me he takes it out on.

At least let me help you break whatever news you have to him. You aren’t exactly known for your tact and I have his moods under a goddamn microscope these days. You don’t understand how far out of control he’s spiraled. He wantsto trust you but the politics in Philadelphia are getting to him; he constantly has officers and their wives and even his own whores whispering in his ear.

I was a bit startled to read that the medal is his. To be honest, I never thought of him as quite so heroic, more arrogant and flip. How did he earn it? Last night when he was snoring by the fire, I rummaged through his desk and found yours: both of them. He always knows when I’ve gone through his things; I'm sure he'll find a creative penalty for me tonight. But all those medals side by side, yours and his… I can’t explain what that made me feel. I forget how intimate the two of you are and how much combat you’ve seen together. What must that be like to bleed with someone for twenty years?

Bass is always nearby; he hardly leaves the Hall these days. The snow has begun to melt but it’s still cold and wet and he’s still paranoid. I would never get off if I waited for him to leave me alone. I know he’s dangerous but don’t kid yourself: so are you. I put myself in your power and you’ve both abused that position in your own ways. It doesn’t mean I’ve ever given up my agency.

Sometimes when I know he’s there, I lean against the door between my room and his office in just my cotton robe and slide a fingertip inside myself. It locks from the outside, as you know, so I’m surprised he’s never come to investigate the rattling. Does that bother you, Miles? The idea of Bass hearing me unravel in private? He’s probably on the other side jerking off, just like you are now.

Don’t pretend you aren’t. Tell me how you touch yourself when you’re reading this. I want to know everything. I want to know what it feels like when you come with your hand on your cock.

You’re not bad at this, not at all. Knowing I make you so hard, I can barely think straight until  your next letter. I’m only glad you’re as distracted as I am. I’ve laid in bed all morning with your letter beside me, my pajamas kicked off under the covers and two fingers curled inside myself. I slide my free hand up my stomach, cupping a breast and flicking my thumb against the nipple. Captain Lennox can probably hear me moaning into my pillow from all the way down the hall. My skin feels stretched tight all the time and I’m so wet for you, Miles. When Bass looks at me, when he touches my hands and my hair, I feel like he knows. Like he can sense you on me, though your handprints are only in my head.

Give me more. I want to imagine you stroking a hand over yourself, fingers dripping. Where are you? What time of day is it; what do you picture me doing to you? Please, I find myself wanting to know every inch of you again but I can only have what you give me.

Rachel

 


	8. March 27, 2021

Captain Lennox  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
Monroe Republic

March 27, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

Dear Rachel:

Apparently my sarcasm has never been very effective on you. What a disappointment.

You must really think I’m a monster. Well, think what you want. Bass and I saw one too many women raped and children gutted, and did what we did to end how fucking arbitrary it all was. People don’t like God because he’s good; they like him because he’s final. Can we just drop it? I can’t do this right now. Melting snow means relief to you – to me it means I have to plan our next move. Over 3000 men are counting on me to wrap this up and take them home. I thought that’s what you wanted: your monster home.

This thing that happened in Canada…Bass might take it the wrong way. And while you might be right that you could actually help me with him, just reading what you wrote in that last letter, I know you can’t handle this. You’re a typical civilian. You don’t understand how war works. You think you’re above everything. Until you’ve stood in a field and watched the men you’ve trained from grunts fall like fucking leaves from a tree, you can’t know why I’ve done the things I’ve done. These men are mine. Bass doesn’t even get it anymore. He’s stuck behind a desk.

Normally I would say that you don’t get a purple heart for valor, you get it for being an idiot who got hit bad enough to be taken out of the game. But Bass took an armload of shrapnel saving my sorry ass. That doesn't mean he isn't an idiot, especially if he's fucking laying hands on you. Does he hurt you? In one sentence you sound like you're afraid of him and in the next like you enjoy his company. You say he touches your hair? I can't help but think he's fucking with me - he knows how I feel about your hair. Why do you let him? Can you hear him jerking off or are you imagining it? I used to trust him as well as I trusted myself, which maybe isn't saying much, but these days I don't know what to think. Goddammit, I wish I were there. We'd give him something to wank to behind closed doors.

Your robe sounds so thin, I bet I could feel how hard your nipples are right through it, how wet your pussy is. Fuck Rachel, I remember unwrapping you like a present, pulling off your pants to find you wetter than any woman I’ve ever known. And I still remember the way you taste. I can’t describe it, it’s just you. I hate thinking that any other man has tasted you. They can’t possibly have relished you as much as me. 

The sun is straight overhead, so I guess it’s noon. I’ve dismissed my staff so I can enjoy you alone, and I have my dick all the way out for once, looking out the wall of windows at the icicles dripping. I wish I could touch myself the way you used to – sort of gentle and insistent – but I get impatient right away. I tried to get enough spit in my fist to pretend it’s your lips, your tongue finding my tip, and me, winding my fingers in your perfect hair. I feel like I’d sell my army for your mouth on me. Luckily you’re not offering or we’d make me the traitor Bass fears.

I had to pause to finish, and damn, it’s never very satisfying these days. In retrospect I should have used my left hand. Some dripped on the page. Sorry bout that. Miss you.

Miles


	9. April 5, 2021

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

April 5, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

I can handle more than you think. The way you’ve run liberty and justice into the ground is despicable but the battlefield is a different story. Even I know that. In the days after the Blackout, everything changed, including me. I shot a man to protect Danny and Charlie and he wasn’t my last. You don’t know me as well as you like to think. Let me help you with Bass.

You’re an arrogant, self-loathing son-of-a-bitch but somewhere under all that slicked-back hair and green wool there’s still a Marine sergeant just waiting for orders. I loved that man once. Of course I want you home. And when you get here, I’m going to keep you in bed with me for a week. If Bass wants your attention, he’ll have to join us.

Why do I let him touch me? What do you expect me to do, exactly? If he were so inclined, he could have his way with me whenever and however he wanted. It’s good to be king and all that. Honestly, some days, I want him to. I want to be touched and filled and cared for, even by him. Imagine it: spending years locked in a 20x40 room, staring out at the same view with the same shitty little landscape painting over the fireplace, the same two or three faces peeking in on you like an oversized dollhouse.

Some days I just want him inside me, even the days he’s so unhinged I think he’d crack me open with his fist if I pushed him even a hair farther. That doesn’t mean I want you any less but he’s just always right here. What would you do if I touched him back next time he put his hands in my hair, slid my hands down the bulge of his trousers? Would you get off on the details? Or would you rush home to deal with us? Either option sounds tempting, you should know.

It doesn’t surprise me, somehow, that the two of you kiss and tell. You share everything else, why not sex? What else did you tell him about us, Miles? Did you tell him about the motel outside ORD? Did you tell him how you fucked me in the kitchen before my engagement party? You forget: he doesn’t know I’m writing to you. Maybe the way he wraps my hair around his fingers isn’t to antagonize you but to be close to you. He may be privately questioning your loyalty but no one could ever say he doesn’t miss you.

How would you want me if you were here? How would you get under his skin? As sad and pathetic as it is, my world is peopled by the two of you. The idea of coming around your cock or fingers or tongue while he listens and pines makes me ache. Makes me gush onto my fingers and the bedspread, in fact, flushed and aroused. That’s a fantasy that could keep me on edge for weeks.

You always threw yourself into sex with a passion that’s startling and more arousing than you can imagine. Thinking about it now makes me want to drape my legs over your shoulders and feel your tongue sliding against me. I’ve requested twice as many baths lately as usual and as soon as I sink into the scalding water, knees bent over the edge of the tin tub, I have my fingers pressed inside myself. Oh, Miles, you make me so wet they slide right in. It’s not enough. I want to be stretched open again. You know exactly how long it’s been.

The image of you standing at wide open icy windows with your cock proud like some post-apocalyptic conqueror, which I suppose is exactly what you are, makes me weaker than I’d like to admit. I wish I was there. I’d let you strip me naked and press me against the cold glass, my legs around your waist and you buried in me. My breasts feel heavy at the idea of being crushed up against the scratchy wool of your uniform, bouncing with every thrust.

When I was all but wrung out, I’d drop to my knees and run my tongue over your length. You always taste a little boozey and even though I should scold you for it, it’s so you. After this many years, I’m so eager and desperate, I’d even let you come in my mouth. You wouldn’t have to sell your army; as worked up as you have me, I think I would beg to taste you again.

In fact, knowing that’s come smudging your name, I want to taste you all the more. I want to smell you on my skin and have to scrub my body raw to be clean again.

Write soon; don’t keep me waiting.

Rachel

 


	10. April 10, 2021

Captain Lennox  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
Monroe Republic

April 10, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

Hell, Rachel, are you trying to kill me? My cock is starting to burn. Seriously, it hasn’t been this raw since my balls dropped and I first discovered that when I tugged on my dick long enough, stuff came out.

Well, I suppose I’d better get this out of the way. It’s bad, Rachel. Much worse than you shooting some sap to protect your kids. The truth is we took Toronto months ago, back in September – way longer ago than I admitted to Bass. I should have kept up momentum: Canadians are cautious and will avoid big battles, run away. We could have rolled them back if we kept pushing. That’s what my Chief of Ordnance Maj. Harvey advised me. He said if we moved fast and conserved shot, we could sack Montreal with one big bombardment and win all the eastern provinces. But I was indecisive and wasted time on small engagements, squandering our ammo. And then the first winter storm hit. Harvey was so pissed he threatened to go home with my artillery…or at least that’s what I thought he meant. I’m not even sure now, I was already so worried about a general mutiny. My troops had been grumbling about fatigue and hunger and the cold. I’d lost hundreds of men to straggling and to this day don’t know where they are.

I shot him, Rachel. Harvey argued with me, and I shot him in the head. Then I pretended he got hit by a sniper. Karma’s going to fuck me so hard for this. I deserve a formal inquiry, to be removed from command, maybe to be shot myself. And what do I tell Bass? That I have no self-control anymore? That if you bitch to me, even if you’re right, I’ll shoot you in the face? I mean, Christ, Bass shouldn’t trust me. I’ve completely lost it.

So I guess both the men you want to fuck are completely cracked. It kills me to think you want him too, but if you do, I can’t stop it. I can’t rush home like some shitty romance novel to hop in your bed and push him out. The way you see the world, where my commitment to you can somehow trump my command, is a fantasy. You know now that I ruined my own goddamn campaign and no one can fix that but me. But Rachel if you fuck Bass…I worry you won’t want me anymore. Bass is all muscles and I’m so skinny and torn up. I don’t look the way I used to.

You know Bass pries, but I never told him about the things we did in that motel (I still remember how tight your ass was, baby, even if you never let me do that again) and I certainly never told him about the engagement party. Those things belong to us.

I’ve got it out again for you, Rache. I’m jacking myself so hard it hurts but it’s not working. It’s Bass. He’s cock blocking me.

I’m trying to reread your letter and focus on you. Believe me when I say, it’s the little things about making love to you that used to get me the most – how when I’d accidentally slip out, you’d reach down with your pretty little fingers to feed me back in and my head would just snag on your edge. Or that little sound you make when I come – that sigh – almost like you feel what I’m feeling.

Yeah, I’d love to come in your mouth again. Your forehead gets all bunched up when my cum splashes on your face like you’re surprised. It’s so cute, I could die. But you asked how I’d want you if I were home right now? I’d make love to you slow and deep and fall asleep inside you. (Finally, I came. I’m exhausted.)

Honestly, I wouldn’t even feel much like taunting Bass if I were home in your bed. I want to know he won’t toss me out for what I’ve done. We used to do everything together, me and Bass. Until last year, I think I could have counted the number of months we’d spent apart on one hand. You know he used to come on campaign with me, right? We’d even share a tent. How pathetic is that?

Just promise me, if you do sleep with him, you won’t let him come in your mouth. I can’t stand the thought of you making that face for him. Promise.

Miles


	11. April 16, 2021

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

April 16, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

I’m going to shock you and not with sex or paltry pandering: you did the right thing. Harvey was with you when I turned myself in and I hated him the moment we met. When you weren’t looking, he always had one eye on your job (and half an eye on me. You may have ‘restrained’ yourself but not all of your men have always been quite so gentlemanly.) Harvey was an ambitious cockroach and when you choked, no doubt he only saw an opportunity. You’re too trusting in the men you’ve trained to be ruthless and brutal.

You think they’re loyal to you when really they’re only loyal to their next promotion. This world we live in is more harsh than I ever could have imagined it would be and my 21st century way is defunct. While I’ve been wrapped up in my gilded cage, militias and scare tactics like yours have become the only way. Maybe you did blow the Canadian campaign, Miles, you know I don’t grasp enough of your situation to confirm or deny, but you got the coastline you needed either way. Let the damn fur trade go.

~~I’ve~~

~~Bass says~~

Look, I spoke with Bass. Please don’t be mad; I didn’t tell him what happened up there. Only that we’ve been writing and that it’s time to bring you home. He was so angry, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he ordered me shot right there in his office. I stood my ground though even when he grabbed my arm and made a fist at me. He can be such a coward, not because he has no problem hitting a woman but because he makes the threats without any real follow through. He brings Corporal Strausser into his office for detailed discussions of recent torture tactics, knowing full well I can’t help but hear, and then brings it up for my ‘opinion’ at dinner. Like he thinks he scares me or something, the bastard. We argued and I made a flippant comment ~~about the two of you~~ that I don’t think you’d appreciate. It seemed to shock him, though I’m sure as hell not the first person to insinuate something more than friendship between you.

He slammed me back against the fireplace (I’ll be a little bruised but I’m fine) but instead of hitting me, he kissed me hard like he was trying to prove there couldn’t possibly be anything between you. It was unexpected, especially given his preceding anger, but he did give me a chance to say yes or no. I said yes or, at least, I made sure he knew I wanted it too. As he was unbuttoning my blouse and my trousers, he kept whispering questions in my ear, all but begging to know what’s happened in Canada, how you’re really doing, what intimacies you’ve given me. You don’t have to worry, I wouldn’t betray your trust by sharing our letters with him, but I’ve never held his attention so intently.

All I can think is that suddenly I wasn’t just me, I was a link to you. This sex, it wasn’t about me and Bass at all and I know that sounds trite but it’s true. For being five hundred miles away, you were awfully present last night.

We knocked nearly everything off the desk, broke a couple of hurricane lamps, and, oh Miles, I think I nearly forgot what it feels like to have a man inside me. I want you all the more now; having Bass fill me up was a tantalizing taste of what we could have. I wanted just to ride him, to use him, but he insisted on stripping me naked and laying me out. It was a pathetic facsimile of romance or some bullshit but I’ll be honest, it felt too damn good to protest. He doesn’t know my body the way you do, isn’t so thick inside me I feel like I’ll just break apart, but it was good. He kept asking me if I was thinking of you, how you used to touch me, like he wanted to outdo you. (He didn’t.) I- I don’t mean to give you all the details, just- tell me what you want.

You know I like to get clean after sex but Bass kept me there on his desk well after I felt sticky and cold, his arms tight around me. Honestly, I think I fell asleep there because when I lifted my head, he was watching me the way you always used to. He touched my cheek, as though what we’d just done had been tender or intimate. That was my limit, Miles. You’re right, some things belong to just us.

Do I want him again? Yes. I find myself craving contact, even if it’s only with Bass. But I still prefer the feel of your keloid scars under my fingers, the jut of your hipbone into my curves. The stretch of your cock inside me, even in my ass though it wasn’t my favorite back then. Time has made me nostalgic for everything we ever tried. I don’t care how available Bass is before you come home, I still want to feel you under me and inside me. I still want to run my fingers through your chest hair and feel the hard lines of you pin me to the bed or the wall. I still want to come on your thick, handsome cock, wring you out, and then slide you out of me so you come on my fingers. I don’t have to see your face to know you think I’m just trying to soothe your ego but I’m serious. When have you ever known me to be anything less than brutally honest?

I swear, I didn’t mean to jump into bed with him like this after we’d been talking about it but it just happened. Bass has a way of edging in on everything. I suppose you knew that already, after twenty years together. I won’t pretend to know much about war but I imagine it makes men intimate, forces you to feel each other in ways someone like me can’t fathom. You must have seen each other in every possible state a person can experience, down to the very lowest, most personal lows. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced true intimacy. My marriage was always practical and comfortable but I shared more with you in those sporadic months than I did with Ben, even after the kids were born. I know what it’s like to memorize someone’s snoring or their morning habits but not what their blood smells like. Not what the nightmares mean that they won’t share with anyone else. What is that like, to know the inside of someone? I’m jealous, jealous of what the two of you have, even in your current state. Tell me what it’s like to own him so completely. Because you do own him and I’m more convinced of that now than I ever was.

As I dressed, he sat up on his elbows, legs fallen open, as unashamed as ever, and he asked me ‘why.’ I thought he meant the sex but he corrected me irritably: why do I want you home? You brought me here, you threatened my kids, you killed a man for arguing with you. Why do I want you home? There was no easy answer. I told him the truth anyway and I suppose you deserve the same courtesy:

Some part of me has never stopped believing someday the two of you would come around, would realize that the power is gone for good and that not only am I of no real use to you but neither is Ben. But somewhere in the middle of exchanging these letters, I’ve realized that is never going to happen. Philadelphia is my home as much as Chicago ever was and my family most likely believes me dead. I will never stop denying you what you want to know but trying for some modicum of pleasure where I can get it is the very least of my sins.

I have no idea if I should expect this to be a regular thing now that I’ve opened my legs for ‘President Monroe’ but I don’t think I’ll say no if he does press the issue. Don’t shut me out for this, please. The idea of you setting down rules about my sex life makes me kind of indignant but if it helps, I promise, I won’t let him come in my mouth.

I can’t, unfortunately, also promise that he’ll order you home just because I’ve asked him to. Consider what I said. You might even soothe his paranoia if you’re just honest with him.

Write soon. Sex with Bass was satisfying enough, but I still need to hear how you jerk off imagining me, how you stroke that beautiful, silky cock until you come. You don’t understand how much more I want you with each and every letter.

Rachel

 

 


	12. April 21, 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All spelling errors are Miles', but I've avoided [sic] so as not to disturb the flow. And Miles has officially become a 19th-century soldier based on the length of this letter. Sheesh. *shrug*

Captain Lennox  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
Monroe Republic

April 21, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

Rachel:

It’s been harder to find time to write you, but it only makes sitting down with your letter more welcome. It’s very late and I’m writing this by candlelight. (Don’t get too excited, that’s wax on the page.) Jim’s busy with the troops, so you’ll excuse my poor spelling. Now you’ll see how much it was really Jim making me look half smart by answering all my questions about big words.

Though you were surprisingly sympathetic about what I did to Harvey, after some thought, I’ve decided not to tell Bass about it. I suppose I’ll have to explain to him how I screwed our chances on Montreal, but the Harvey thing gets more complicated the more I think about it. It’s possible I’m now more afraid Bass will approve of what I did than give me the punishment I deserve. I know everyone hit low points after the Blackout, but Bass suffered more and fell further. Believe me when I say, Bass needs me to be the stable one. Everything might depend on it. 

A lot has gone on here lately, but as you can probably guess, I’m most preoccupied with what happened between you and Bass. At first, thinking about his hands on you, I just wanted to kill him – to put my fingers on his windpipe and crush it. But then…I don’t know, Rachel, you seemed to enjoy yourself so much and I don’t want you to be miserable. I really don’t. And maybe I enjoyed myself a little too thinking about you opened wide on a desk for a cock. ~~Bass’ cock is the closest thing to mine in a way.~~

I was sort of surprised to hear Bass is a romantic lay. Part of me wants to know everything. Did he put his tongue in you? Did he eat you out until your ankles shook? (God, I remember lowering your quivering legs down afterward.) How many times did you come? I don’t know why this is turning me on so much. You always say you want to hear my fantasies but I don’t think you do want to know exactly what a man ~~like me~~ thinks when he’s tugging on himself at his most jealous. Do you want to hear how I’d fuck your throat till you were hoarse? How I’d flip you over and suck on your asshole till it turned red, then stuff it so deep you’d whimper? Because that’s what I want right now. To fuck you stiff and own you.

Christ, Rachel. The things you said Bass whispered in your ear about me while he fucked you brought back something I tried hard to forget. Since your last letter, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. I was never able to make sense of it, but you might. At this point, I suppose you know me and Bass better than anyone. But you can never repeat this. You know how bad I could make things for you if you did.

You said you imagine war makes men intimate. Well, you’re not wrong. It does. Bass and I have done all sorts of things in front of each other – piss, shit, jerk off. That’s just par for the course with brothers-in-arms. But something else happened between us that was not so normal. We’ve never discussed it. It’s hard to even write. You’ll remember that I didn’t have an easy tour in Afghanistan. When I came back, I had some problems. Shit this is going to sound creepy, try not to be disgusted. One night Bass and I were sleeping next to each other (yeah that’s usual for us, yeah I know how it sounds) and I thought he was asleep or I wouldn’t have…well, I was trying to get off and it wasn’t working. It turns out he was awake and he reached over and did it for me. That was it. Nothing else happened ever again. I swear.

Do you think he…I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask. I don’t know what to think about him or myself. But I came in another man’s hand. Bass’ hand. And I was grateful. There it is.

Something you wrote really bothered me (you know, besides the fact that you’re happily fucking my best friend). It was Cpl. Strausser. He’s a bonafide psychopath. I keep him in the militia under close watch so he doesn’t run around murdering innocent people for the fun of it. I can’t believe Bass is consorting with him – Bass is a fucking moron. I’ll talk to him, but in the meantime, for your safety, steer clear of Strausser.

Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I had to write with news like this. I told you a lot has happened here, and the truth is we’re under attack. I was so busy planning my next move that I didn’t anticipate that the Canadians would strike first. They hit us hard and smart. There’s something more, and I’m sorry to involve you, but I thought you might want to know and could help me with it. A couple of my pickets went down last night, and when we buried them this morning I asked for their names. At first I didn’t realize why one name was familiar but then…it was Andrew Lennox. That’s Capt. Lennox’s older son. I don’t know Lennox well, but since he’s been helping us with our letters, I thought he at least deserved to hear the bad news from me. I’ve enclosed a note with my condolances, and I hope you’ll pass it on for me. I hate this part of my job. I never know what to say.

Hell, I’m too ashamed to go back and reread this letter for various reasons. I’m sorry for the initial gruffness. I do want to make love to you and make you feel nice. I wouldn’t have even minded being there with you on that desk, holding you from behind while Bass took you. Anything to be close to you, Rache. If you can believe it, I’m hard again even though I jerked off earlier in this letter.

This time I’m going to toss myself to something happy. Remember when I’d just gotten back from Iraq and we couldn’t wait – we started stripping in the backseat of my car? You pulled off my shorts and when you just looked at my naked cock I almost lost it. You slid your hand down it so softly – Christ, it was the hardest I’ve ever been – and then you just kissed my stomach. You weren’t even pulling on me, just holding me so lightly, and I oozed into your hand. I’d never come like that before or since. At the time I was probably embarrassed, but it means a lot to me that you could be so gentle. I’m sorry I’m such a dick to you. I’m sorry for this letter. I shouldn’t send it. I’m so anxious about my men’s safety, I’m barely myself. I wish you could hold me and tell me it’s going to be alright. But everything about that is a lie, isn’t it? You’re going to hold him instead and I’m going to lose Toronto but not before a whole bunch of my men become worm food.

Miles

p.s. Can you correct my spelling in my enclosed letter to Lennox? I’m such a fucking idiot. I don’t want to make it even worse for him by reminding him that his own commanding general barely passed high school. Thanks.

p.p.s. Shit. I just realized there’s something else I didn’t respond to from your letter, and looking back I see why. You say you want me home, that you’re supposedly resigned to Philly, but that you’ll never help us get the power back on. First, this week has reminded me that I owe it to kids like Andrew Lennox to finish things here, no matter how much I miss home. Bass is right to keep me here. Second, I won’t and can’t release you no matter how much you try to guilt me into it or how useless you make yourself. And I will not explain to you why. That’s between me and Bass. You can screw him by night and me by letter, but that, babe, is ours. You’re right: Philly is your home now. You belong with us.

* * *

Dear Capt. Lennox:

It is my painful duty to inform you of your son Andrew’s death. He was shot through the right temple on picket duty and died instantly. He did not suffer. We buried him outside the Art Gallery of Ontario and marked his grave so that his body can be retrieved. I am grateful for your profound sacrifice to the Republic and I deeply sympathize with your loss. May God and friends sustain you in your sorrow.

With sincere condolances,

Miles Matheson, Commanding General


	13. April 26, 2021

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

April 26, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

I don’t quite know how to begin this. It bothers me greatly to show you my weaknesses because it’s only in your nature to strike at them. Don’t take that the wrong way; you’re a general, it’s just what you do. You plan, you execute, you strike to hurt, and Bass is the same way.

You were right: when I first read your news, I was saddened and wanted to help. I fixed your letter to Captain Lennox. It was surprisingly heartfelt of you. Bass had received your report with the same courier, of course, and mentioned over breakfast that Lennox’s son had been killed. I showed him your letter to the captain and asked if I could be there to tell him; we aren’t particularly close, I’m not particularly close to anyone but you and Bass, but he’s been very kind to me and I wanted this horrible news to come from someone friendlier than his commanding officers.

It was a mistake, Miles.

Bass and I waited in his office while one of the guards retrieved Captain Lennox from his post. I know you don’t really know him but he’s a sweet man and when he first came in, he seemed genuinely happy to see me. But the minute I saw his face, I knew I couldn’t do it. I crumpled your letter in my hand without meaning to. He must have been able to tell something was wrong though neither of us had said anything yet because he sobered and stood at attention. (That’s always a little unnerving for me, to see the two of you treated like Pattons or Washingtons or some bullshit.) It was like my throat just closed and I couldn’t speak. There he was, about to find out his son was dead, and I couldn’t even hold myself together long enough to be a comfort.

Thank god Bass didn’t let me struggle very long. He stood out of that overstuffed chair of his and, for once, I saw what your men must see, when they aren’t running terrified of him. He was gentle and quiet and he pried the letter out of my hand without me even noticing. Lennox all but collapsed into the chair he was offered; he looked so stricken. Bass sent him home, I think, to be with his wife, and I guess I took Bass’ whiskey off the desk because I remember it burning down my throat. I felt, still feel, horribly guilty, being so useless. But Bass locked the door, unbuckled his coat and hung it up on the rack; when he touched my arm, I just broke, Miles. I think Bass barely saved the empty glass when I let go of it. I haven’t cried that hard since the day I left Ben and the kids. Oh, my kids. Your war is so real to me now; at least I know my babies are out there somewhere and whether it’s true or not, I can at least imagine that they’re safe. You can’t understand this. You don’t have children.

But somehow Bass seemed to. He held me so tight and he just let me sob on his chest until I was dried out and exhausted. It was the first time since before the Blackout that he seemed familiar to me, like the old Bass. He was a drunk back then, and a womanizer, but he always cared, especially about Mathesons.

After all that, how could I possibly be disgusted by the idea of Bass comforting you, particularly when you both so clearly have deep feelings for each other? He took care of you in that moment, Miles; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I do remember when you returned from that tour. The hollowness in your eyes terrified me as much as it broke my heart. I don’t care what he had to do to bring you back to yourself. I know what you’re thinking and I don’t want to hear it: having feelings for Bass doesn’t make you any less of a man, it doesn’t make you wrong, it doesn’t even make you gay. Of all the things we’ve given up since the Blackout, defined sexuality is no big loss if you ask me. Do you think you love him? I admit, I always assumed you were in love with him, even when we were- whatever we were, and that he was just as in love with you.

What does make you less of a man is constantly reminding me that I’m your goddamn property. You know how much it took for me to concede my place in your world; you just had to rub it in, had to make me seem even more powerless than ever. It’s cowardly and immature and you’re only hiding behind your bravado. At the end of the day, it’s all about Bass anyway; you could have saved your bluster. You say ‘ours’ and ‘us’ when you talk about owning me. You say he needs you, that you have to be there for him. Perhaps it’s not me you want to own at all.   

I’m too tired of fighting and arguing though so I’ll admit it, (unlike you, I have some semblance of self-awareness): the idea of just giving myself over to the two of you is tempting. The idea of letting you spend hours wasting yourself in me. I don’t know, maybe I don’t care after all. Maybe it’s easier just to let you have me. Maybe it’s easier just to be a post-apocalyptic Patty Hearst. Because some part me wants to let you fill me up and leave me hoarse and whimpering, Miles, and I don’t always want to fight that.

It doesn’t surprise me that you’re turned on by the thought of me and Bass. Admittedly, it’s part of why I wanted this. It never occurred to me you might not realize your feelings for him (or, I suppose, might not have those kinds of feelings for him. I just always assumed. You’re so intimate. I’ve come more than once to the fantasy of you inside me, with your hand on his cock. It’s not disturbing at all, Miles; it’s gorgeous.) I wish you had been there on that desk, holding me from behind. I’m wet just thinking about it.

God, this is twisted. I hate you both and I want you both.

That night, on the desk, was fairly tame, really. Get-to-know-you sex, if you will, and damn has it been a long time since I’ve had that. Not since our first time, all those years ago at the Grand in Chicago. But this morning, after I finished crying my eyes out in his arms, he led me into the bedroom and he asked if he could go down on me. I was a little shocked at first, especially at his bluntness when usually he’s so silver-tongued, but he wiped my tears away and he told me he wanted to. He’s never been this tender with me, it was disorienting.

He let me undress him as he peeled my black sheer blouse off me. His skin is so warm to the touch, it’s intoxicating, (though it might just have been me: you always complained my hands are cold.) When I was naked and he was stripped to the waist and barefoot, he laid me across the bed. I wasn’t sure what to expect, exactly, I mean I could still feel dried tears on my cheeks, but he kissed me everywhere and soon I wasn’t thinking about Lennox anymore, I’m ashamed to admit. When he finally ran his tongue between my legs, I nearly came right then with my hands in his hair, he had me so ready for it. He lifted my calves up over his shoulders, still half-kneeling on the edge of the bed, and when he tasted me, Miles, I never wanted to get up again.

He worked his fingers inside me and he didn’t even make me beg for it; I guess he felt sorry for me. Maybe it was just his own guilt but he made me come three times without resting and when he was done, I felt so wrecked and boneless, I could barely remember what I’d been upset about. He really does own me and though it feels sort of exhilarating in a way, it terrifies me. I don’t want to fight it but I don’t want to give up my power. Miles, I’m so confused. I thought when I was wrung out that he’d unbuckle his pants and finish in me. His erection was fairly obvious, brushing against my thigh as he brought my legs down to the bed. But he only kissed my stomach and straightened, shrugging his shirt back on.

He closed the door to the office behind him and I could hear through the wall as he came in his hand with a groan. I can’t lie about this: I plunged my fingers inside myself at the sound and brought myself off again. You said you’ve jerked off next to each other so you know the sounds he makes when he comes. I feel delirious, Miles, like this thing with Bass has spiraled out of my grasp without my realizing. I don’t like feeling out of control. Tell me what to do; you know him better than anyone. What does he want from me?

Rachel

 


	14. May 9, 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You might be able to make out some tear splash on this letter, but Miles will never admit to it. ;)

Captain W. Lennox  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia  
Monroe Republic

May 9, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

Dear Rachel:

I've caused you pain and I'm sorry. I had a terrible time trying to make it through your letter. I don't think I have it in me to respond to everything, so you'll forgive me, I hope. I have to give the militia what little energy I have at the moment.

The fact that you would call my letter to Lennox "surprisingly heartfelt" just shows that you don't know me as well as I think. My men are everything to me. I feel each loss acutely. Especially the young ones. I can assure you that Bass' sentiments were "heartfelt" too. Capt. Lennox is on his staff. Your staff is your brain and your lungs and your heart. I'm sure it was very hard on Bass to deliver the news. It sounds like this whole thing has reminded you how much you miss your kids, and I'm truly sorry for that. I never wanted to take you away from them, Rachel. I asked for Ben, goddammit.

If you want...well sometimes when we lose someone it helps me to visit what we call "memorial hall." Bass and I dedicated a wall to our fallen men with pictures and personal objects and such. If you ask, Bass might take you to it one night to pay your respects to Andrew. Speaking of, if Bass knows about our letters, should I just address them directly to you from now on? With Lennox out of commission for a while, it seems to make sense. I'm not sure I'll be away much longer anyway.

I'm glad Bass took care of you when you needed it. Glad he was gentle with you. He's good at that when it counts. Unlike me, he's good at loving people. He's loved so many, Rachel, and lost nearly all of them. You could be gentle with him too. He'd like that. He deserves it.

You ask me if I love Bass? My whole life, he’s been my brother, my right arm, and (when I needed it most) even my goddamn wife. He’s the only constant in my world. I don't know what it means that I suddenly want to be tangled up with both of you in bed. But like you, I'm too tired to fight what I want right now.

I've reread how Bass went down on you a hundred times, and it aches, but it's good. It's so good, I want more. Do you look into each other's eyes when you do it? Both of you have such clear blue eyes, they remind me of the afternoon skies in Iraq. You're right that I know how he sounds when he comes - I'm pretty sure I know that puff and sigh better than I know the sound of my own release -  but I don't know how he feels. Touch him, Rachel, and tell me how it feels when he comes between your fingers. Don't hold back anything from him. I take back what I said about him finishing in your mouth. Taste him. Let him fist your hair while you suck him off. I want to know everything.

If we were in bed together right now, the three of us, I would slide my hands down your beautiful breasts and drink in your tongue until we gasped. But I think I'd want to be inside of him, if that's ok with you. I'd put my arms around both of you, but I'd finish in him. I can't help but wonder how tight he'd be compared to you. He could be in you, if you want, and we could all three of us come at once. I can't believe I never thought of this before. It makes insane, perfect sense. We should all be together.

Rachel, I know I don't own you or Bass. I just feel responsible for you both. It's like with my militia - I tell them I own their asses because that's how you train soldiers, but at the end of the day, each one of them will die alone with his own conscience. The problem is I don't get that privilege. I'll die with everyone's sins on my conscience. Why? Because I made this. All of it - your prison included. You have the luxury of feeling sad about Andrew Lennox's death, but I am the one responsible for it. I'll pay for it until the day I die, and if there's a hell, I'll pay for all eternity. All the thousands. That's what I deserve.

You asked me what Bass wants, and it's simple really. Bass wants to be loved.

Miles

 


	15. May 15, 2021

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Toronto, Canada

May 15, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

Imagine my surprise at breakfast this morning when Bass asks if you’re still whining about your leg. Excuse me, I ask? What’s wrong with his leg? It took me ten minutes to drag it out of him that you got shot two weeks ago, though he still didn’t tell me how. What happened? And why didn’t you tell me in your last letter? You could have died, Miles, a bullet in the thigh is nothing to be casual about. You could have bled out in some field somewhere and never come home and you didn’t even mention it. Do you think I don’t care?

I know you feel the loss of each of your men and I didn’t mean to imply otherwise before, but imagine if I lost you. If Bass lost you. It would destroy him. The two of you are so cavalier about death. I know you: you have no sense of self-preservation, you wear your hatred for yourself on your sleeve and you’re always in the thick of everything. I don’t care what you have to do, just be careful. Come home to me in one piece, I’m begging you.

A few nights ago I took your advice and asked Bass to take me to the memorial. He was reluctant at first but after much pleading, he caved. It was well after dark when he came to get me, no guards, just the two of us. I don’t know if he’s trusting me more or if he just doesn’t think I’m capable of hurting him now. It was a warm night and I can’t tell you what that felt like on my bare arms, after so many months trapped indoors. We walked in silence across the park to the hall and he showed me the picture of Captain Lennox’s son that’s tacked up there. I know the picture was from a long time ago, when he was just a kid, but he looked younger than Charlie the last time I saw her. There were a few candles that had burnt out in front of the wall and Bass had matches so we lit one for him. He held my hand and it was all I could do not to break down on him again but you were right. It did help. I slept well that night for the first time since Bass informed Lennox of Andrew’s death.

Though, admittedly, visiting the memorial wasn’t the only reason I slept well.

When we reached Independence Hall again, I didn’t want to go inside and I begged him to walk with me. The night was so nice, I couldn’t bear to go back to my room just yet. For some reason, he’s been remarkably relaxed with me lately. It can’t just be that he’s mellowed by sex: Bass Monroe never lacked in that department. He hasn’t said much but I know how worried he is about you being hurt. Perhaps he really does consider me his link to you, the same way he’s always touched my hands and my hair; now his need to be connected is just more intimate. I know I can't help but cling to him in your place; we only have each other when you're away. Whatever the motivation, he tugged me against his side and led me down the street. I wasn’t sure where we were going but I didn’t really care. There was a breeze blowing and so many stars, I could have laid down in the middle of the street and not been bored until sunrise.

I did try to protest when he took me to the stables (the last thing I wanted was to be indoors) but he ushered me in anyway. Bass took me up to the second floor, where they keep the hay bales, and swung open the outside door. It wasn’t much of a view, just the street below and the rooftops around us with a rusty hay hook hanging in the way, but it was beautiful, Miles. To see something new and different… I know you’ll tell me there’s nothing beautiful about war but I envy you the chance to travel. I’m so sick of that room, I could scream.

He pulled me into his arms in front of the open door and I could feel him hard against my back. It was so clearly a request and with the breeze in my hair, I suddenly wanted him more than ever. You said you wanted me to taste him so I took a deep breath, (it’s still a bit unnerving to share such intimate moments with my jailer), and dropped to my knees in front of him. He looked kind of surprised, I guess, but he just ran his fingers through my hair and let me unbutton his pants myself. They caught on his boots, the laces too complicated to deal with in the dark, and he looked so depraved standing there like that, I felt myself get wet just looking at him.

His cock is so thick and pink and when I buried my face in his hip to breathe in that leathery scent that always clings to him he shuddered, gripping the back of my head. He’s so much more responsive than I ever thought he would be.

He held me there, sucking him hard with my fingers digging into his ass and sliding down over him whenever I pulled back for a breath. I don’t know how long we stood there but he came on my tongue with a sigh, nudging the back of my throat so my eyes stung. When I pulled away, I was gasping for air; he tastes so _Bass,_ something like citrus left out in the sun for too long but still, you’d probably appreciate the feel and flavor of him more than I do. Oh, god, that makes me want to see you on your knees for him, maybe with him sprawled in that leather chair of his with your uniforms mussed and your lips spread around his cock.

He dropped down next to me and did something that I thought was surprising: he grabbed me and kissed me like he wanted to taste himself. Your kisses rip me open and get inside me but Bass… he’s sort of gentle and shy and he sneaks in when you aren’t paying attention. I can only imagine having both of you at once; you’d drive me out of my head, I’d be so disoriented, but it would be the best sex of my life. Of any of our lives.

I started to strip out of my clothes but he stood abruptly. I think I made an embarrassing little protest because he laughed and threw down a horse blanket on the dirty floor. When we were both undressed, he laid me down on the blanket with my head near the open door and put my hand on his cock, waking him up again while he paid special attention to my breasts with his tongue. That mouth is talented at more than bluster and sarcasm, believe me. I want to see him go down on you too, see your face when you come in him and your hands in his hair.

He slid his hands down my sides and this time he did look me in the eye the whole time, as he pushed inside me. Some part of me wanted to look away, to make it less personal, maybe, but he’s so demanding, I just couldn’t. It’s been so many years, it still pinches a little to have him inside me, but it only grounds me more.I wrapped my arms under his and dug my nails into his back as he thrust inside me. Downstairs, I could hear the horses snuffling and stomping and the breeze reached just far enough in the doorway to ruffle my hair. I suppose you can’t really know what it feels like to be worked up again and again, but it’s such a release to let go like that until you’re gushing and coming and begging him not to stop. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he made love to me. I don’t quite know what to make of it; I expect him to take me and use me and slam me into the bed (or the floor) but he never does. I can’t help thinking it’s just another of his mind games, I’m so twisted up about it. Maybe he just wants you; maybe I'm only a placeholder.

When we were finished, we dressed enough and sat on the edge of the door with our feet dangling outside like a couple of kids and he picked hay out of my hair, laughing. It’s nearly the same color; I found it in my hair and clothes for two days.

Yes, I slept well that night. I’d sleep better with you both on either side of me. What you said, about us all being together, I don’t know if it’s realistic but I want it. I want you both inside me, I want to see you fuck him and see him work you open with his tongue and his fingers and his cock while you’re buried inside me. Maybe it’s selfish to want something so badly when I have so much guilt on my conscience but I do. Believe me, if  you deserve to pay for all the deaths you’re responsible for, so do I. I have more blood on my hands than you ever could. No, that cliché doesn’t apply here. It’s more accurate to say I’d probably drown in it. If you only knew what we did, you’d be disgusted and I couldn’t stand to see that on your face when you look at me.

Bass may want to be loved but none of us deserves that anymore. Maybe we do deserve each other though. Certainly, no one else could stomach being with any of us.

Rachel

P.S. I’ve been so distracted, I completely forgot about the letter headings. Yes, you can address them to me; Bass has known for a while, of course. I’ve been burning your letters so he still can’t read them, though it kills me to have to part with them. It makes him angry but he seems to know we need each other right now. Maybe we could work, the three of us. Come home in one piece, please, and maybe we can try.

 


	16. May 20, 2021

Rachel Matheson  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

May 20, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Buffalo, NY

Dear Rachel:

I didn’t tell you about the leg, because I knew you’d worry. It’s not like I galloped out there like an idiot and got shot on purpose! You want to know what happened? Fine. You can hear what real war is like when you’re losing and your men are demoralized as hell. In the thick of a huge enemy bombardment (you wouldn’t believe the smoke-blindness from all the black powder and how the cannon rumble your guts) the entire front line of my troops collapsed and ran for the rear like chicken shits, so I rode forward to rally them. It didn’t do much but lend order to the retreat, and in the process, I took a hit to the outside of my thigh. Yes, I’m aware of how easily I could have bled out if it had been just a centimeter to the right. Ok, looking back maybe I was an idiot riding that close to the line. In any case, I’m stuck traveling by ambulance now like a goddamn invalid. Christ almighty, Rachel, as if this could get any worse.

And tell Bass to shut up, I didn’t whine to him. I barely even mentioned my leg, even though it feels like someone is hammering an anvil into my femur at all hours of the day. Anyway, Doc Arora, my personal physician, is here with me, and he got the bullet out nice and clean. I mean, he fucking repaired my intestines after Trenton, and they were soup! No one thought I’d come back from that. You can trust his handywork. I’m basically his quilt at this point.

It’s getting warmer here too, and I’m in my tent with my leg up and the candle burning, and here’s something amusing: I’ve totally lost track of the enemy! I’m starting to think we went one way and they went the other. As I’ve told you, Canadians hate confrontations. We left the AGO about a week ago when we abandoned Toronto, and oh, I never told you how that contest turned out – you know, who could devise the stupidest meaning for that acronym? The boys may have had a favorite, but the one I liked best came from Jim in regards to yours truly: Aging General of Onanism. I mean it’s just accurate at this point (once Jim explained to me what onanism is. I really should spend less time with Hudson – he makes me look almost as dumb as you do.)

I would have my hand down my pants right now, living up to my triumphant new title, but I’m looking at something – this painting I pilfered from the AGO for you. Ah, it’s a Cezanne. He’s famous right? I thought you’d like it to replace that landscape you hate over the fireplace. It’s of trees, so if you can’t be outside as much as you like, I’ll bring the outside to you. I mean, why not take you back some art? I’m in a fucking ambulance and can carry all kinds of shit around with me. I could have brought one of those fruit roll-up staircases if you wanted.

On a serious note, I’m glad memorial hall helped you find some peace about Andrew Lennox. You can spend a lot of time there staring if you’re not careful. You and Bass sounded very domestic holding hands. That might even make me more jealous than the sex, to be honest. But I guess you’ve got two hands – one for each of us, so I shouldn’t be so greedy. And I’m on crutches anyway, so mine are busy when I’m ~~walking~~ limping.

Well, I put that painting aside, so I’m going to engage my hands with something a bit more enjoyable. My dick’s so swollen it could burst my fly. But Rachel, the description of you two in the stables – Christ. I can’t stop picturing your juices smeared across the hay. I’d do anything to taste you, even suck on that straw. Do you remember how I used to lick you through your panties until you’d complain and then I’d slide my tongue through a leg hole to your bare skin? You’re such perfect velvet and you taste almost sweet when you’re drenched like that. It reminds me of the honeysuckle Bass and I used to suck on when we’d hide from my dad in the bushes in Jasper. Somehow I’m not surprised to hear Bass tastes like citrus. I’d line you two up and drink you both dry, if I could. You have the same hair and eyes – I wonder if you moan the same way, too. I think I’d finish up by letting you each put a hand – yours small and smooth, his big and worn – on my cock to wring me out on your bellies. I’d suggest you lick it off his stomach afterward, but you probably wouldn’t relish that. I doubt Bass would resist though. He’d clean you up and ask for more, don’t you think? 

I guess I’ve never really thought about what it would be like to have someone inside me, although, God I loved your pucker Rachel. It was just so vulnerable and tiny. I suppose if Bass wanted to fuck me that way I’d let him. You’d really want to watch that? Ok, if I’m honest I wouldn’t mind being stuffed from behind by Bass, my prick buried in you. And then you’d come in that way you do, when you don’t need fingers, you just writhe against the pressure of my dick. Damn, that kills me. And Bass, he’d finish in me, but I have no idea what that feels like: Wet? Deep? Achy? I want you both so bad, I don’t know if I can wait. Promise me we won’t do anything but fuck for days when I get home.

So I might have just come pretending the finger up my ass was Bass’ cock, and I’m not really sure how I feel about that…Anyway, stay in bed a little extra when you get this letter, Rachel, and put fingers in both holes just for me. I miss you so much. I want to be in every part of you at once.

If this letter sounds weirdly giddy, it’s because I’m coming home soon. My campaign is an utter failure, but the silver lining is I’ll be seeing you and Bass before long.

Yours,

Miles

 

May 21, 2021

Yesterday when I polished off my response I was in a very good mood (clearly), but today when I reread your letter one last time, I got stuck on what you said at the end about drowning in blood and not deserving anything but me and Bass. You sound desperate, and I’m not there to talk sense into you. Because Rachel, you’re wrong, I could never be disgusted by you. You think the Blackout was your fault, but there’s no way one little team of scientists ended the world all on your own. I mean, I get that’s what you think happened: you were project lead, so you blame yourself. Yes, I’ve put two and two together. Do you even remember calling me up before the Blackout to ramble about how you and Ben were contracting with the DOD? Sure, you were incredibly vague – and I was surprised because I hadn’t heard from you in a while – but I could tell you were worried sick. Why else would you ask me, a lowly Marine sgt., what I knew about Defense? I didn’t answer you then, because we got cut off – Ben came home. But I’ll tell you now what I would have said. We did all kinds of shadowy shit you wouldn’t believe in the Corps – stuff I’m not proud of. Oh don’t get me wrong – I loved my country, and I would do it all again. But Rachel, you were project lead, not president, commander-in-chief. You weren’t at the top of the food chain like Bass and I are now. I understand your guilt, but you don’t need to take it on alone.

So…sorry babe, you can’t come with us to hell. It would be far too pleasant with you there, and that would defeat the purpose of it, right? I’m kind of an ass when I try to comfort people, really, Bass is much better. He’s always been there for me with this kind of stuff, and I think he’d be there for you too if you asked.


	17. May 25, 2021

General Matheson  
Headquarters in the field  
Buffalo, New York

May 25, 2021  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

Dear Miles,

I had an unexpected thrill seeing my name written in your hand on the front of that letter, given that it’s the first I’ve received like that. For a moment, it felt like finding a love letter in with the bills. If only what we’ve been doing here were that simple.

I hate that you’re so miserable right now but I can’t pretend I’d rather you be in the thick of battle than holed up in an ambulance. I can’t lose you, Miles, even though I suppose it’s inevitable in this world. Still, there are times it feels like the people who are least deserving, like you and I, are being kept alive in punishment by some unseen dictator, far more powerful than Bass.

You think you know the truth, but you can’t imagine the selfish things I’ve done. The guilt of what we let happen, I can’t express how it affected me. How it still affects me every day. I’ve never told you this, but a few months after the Blackout, I nearly tried to kill myself. Ben talked me down but I really intended to do it until he brought up the kids. I had to put aside how much I hated myself because they needed me. Do the same for us, Miles, please. Whatever waits for us when you return, I need to know you’re safe, at least for the present.

Some days I wonder if I really could have done it and every time I’m ashamed when I realize I could have. I’d have taken my babies’ mother from them and been at peace for it. Leaving them for Philadelphia, at least I have my guilt to force me up every morning. I wonder what they’re doing and where they are and it reminds me why I did this: because Ben can keep them safe. I was never strong enough for them.

That’s never been more clear than now, with how easily I’ve given in to your desires and my own. You mentioned me having a hand for you and one for Bass and you’re right: my hands are yours, both of you, just like the rest of me. I fear your domestic fantasy of the three of us is probably just that, a fantasy, but it sounds like such a relief from the constant pressure of the game we play.

Early this morning, while it was still dark outside, Bass crawled into bed with me and though I can’t speak for him, I certainly indulged in a bit of my own fantasy of what the three of us together might be like. He must have been thinking about me (or you) all night without touching himself, he was already so hard and insistent. His hands were all over me, mapping my body and tugging off my pajamas. With his cock nudging between my legs, all I could think about was your letter and how desperately you seem to have imagined the three of us tangled in a bed together. Suddenly, I wanted to know what that feels like, how it feels to have two men inside me at once. I reached a hand back and slid the tip of his cock up the crevasse in my ass. I think I must have been blushing like crazy but luckily it was still dark in the room. He seemed startled and rolled my shoulder back against his, forcing me to glance up at him as he asked if I was sure.

I didn’t want to change my mind so I just nodded furiously and slid two fingers inside myself, grinding back against him. He tried to protest that we didn’t have any lube but, really, who has lube on hand these days? So I just dragged his wrist up with my free hand and sucked his fingers in my mouth, coating them liberally with saliva. His fingertips curled against the flat of my tongue and I felt his cock twitch as he groaned into my shoulder. When I finally pulled away, he pushed me down gently, sliding his wet fingers over my hole and making me shiver. I admit, as he worked me open, I just slammed my eyes shut and tried not to think about it. At first it didn’t feel like much of anything but uncomfortable, even as the fingers I still held inside myself grew soaked.

When the tip of his cock bumped up against my ass though, I tensed and he could tell (of course he could tell, he had me spread open, more vulnerable than I’ve ever been with him.) He whispered in my ear how jealous you were going to be that he got there first and I had to correct him, even though I knew he was just trying to distract me; anyway, he seemed more turned on by the idea of our motel dalliances than annoyed that you beat him to claiming me all those years ago.

Finally, he edged inside me and god, Miles, it burned like nothing else but the longer we lay there and the harder I curled my fingers, the easier it was to imagine myself trapped between the two of you. I twisted my hand between my body and the bed, working a third finger inside. By the time he relaxed behind me, apparently as deep as he cared to be, there were tears clinging to the corners of my eyes and I felt as stretched open as I could possibly get. But, still, I know if you were here, my thighs would be spread over your hips and you’d get me even more open and desperate, the both of you thrusting inside me.

It’s not just me that’s vulnerable in this trio of yours, though, you should remember that. We could just as easily own you. In your letter, you imagined Bass coming inside you. This morning was the first time I’ve felt a man come in me in almost a decade and I had honestly forgotten how intimate and messy and over-stimulating that feels. It makes me want to feel you come inside me too, makes me want to feel everything about your cock in a new way, without all the rubber and pills that used to block us, though the realist, the scientist, in me knows how impressively stupid that is.

More than any of that, however, I want you to know how it feels: the deep gush of come somewhere inside you, somewhere you can’t quite identify, but it feels like the center of your world for a minute, while a cock twitches against your insides. Against skin that is normally so hidden and secret, the lightest of touches can be enough to set you off. I’ll be so jealous of Bass, getting to feel inside you, you can’t imagine. I’ll sink my nails into your neck and your tattoos while you drive into me, Bass filling you from behind and his hand on my calf, holding us all three together.

Oh Miles, the idea of seeing you experience that makes me so excited, my mouth is dry and I have to pause in writing this so I can slide a hand beneath the covers to flick at my clit. It’s ineffective but nothing is satisfying enough when I have the constant image of you, me and Bass playing through my head.

You’d pull out of me to come across my stomach and I can just hear your whine as Bass slides out of you. Yes, he would be eager to clean me up, drawing his tongue over me in wide, wet strokes that would only serve to work me back to distraction. I want to kiss him and taste you; I want to take your cock in my mouth and Bass’ from behind. I don’t know if it’s possible to put aside the things we’ve done, to each other and to everyone else, but if that were more than just a twisted dream, I want it. Understand that, please. I want to know what it feels like to be wrapped up between you and what it’s like to share a bed with two other bodies.

Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m anxious about you coming home. We’ve spent all these months embroiled in fantasy and sex but it’s been nearly fifteen years since you last touched me (other than to threaten and intimidate. It’s all so twisted, Miles. I hate myself all the more for wanting this with you and Bass.) Maybe we can still be something if we want it hard enough: we are equals, no matter how you question your intelligence around me or Jim, and your thoughtfulness never ceases to surprise me. I thumbed through the museum catalog you sent and I think I found the Cezanne you’re bringing home. I nearly cried as I looked at the small photograph of it in the book, knowing you thought enough and cared enough to choose it for me.

But at the end of the day, I’m still your prisoner. I’ll always be your prisoner; I’m not optimistic or delusional enough to believe anything could convince you to release me. Or, for that matter, if I would be glad to be free. What would I do with myself? I don’t know where my family is, at least not Ben and the kids. I can’t go home. You’re my family, as sick as that is.

Whatever guilt I may feel for it, I’m unassailably relieved to hear you probably won’t be seeing any more combat. I live in terror the days you are unaccounted for, not knowing if you’re alive or dead until your next letter. And my fears pale beside Bass’. He worries for your life but also for your loyalty and your trust and your love: Miles, he’s been gentle with me lately but something tells me it’s only the calm before the storm. You don’t know everything that’s happened in Philadelphia while you’ve been gone and though he misses you terribly, he longs for proof you’re still his.

Forgive me, for all the things I’ve done and all the things I’ve yet to do.

Rachel


	18. May 28, 2021

Rachel Matheson  
Independence Hall, Philadelphia

May 28, 2021

Headquarters in the field  
Wilkes-Barre, PA

Dear Rachel:

Hey. You sound like you’re giving into despair. Don’t do that. I’ll be home the day after next – I promise. I don’t know what you mean when you say our correspondence is more complicated than love letters. To me, that’s exactly what this has become. You’ve made me care about you again, so much. In fact, I never really stopped. When I get home I’ll hold you as long as it takes to convince you of that.

I really worry when you talk about hurting yourself even if just in the past. I went through this with Bass when he lost his family, and still, every now and then, he gets that look in his eyes – it’s like a shadow or something. I care about both of you so much, but you’re both so fragile, it terrifies me. Rachel, killing yourself is giving up, and Mathesons do not give up. You held on for your kids back then and you have to hold on for me now. I made Bass promise, and I need you to promise too. 

The sex you described in your last letter, it felt like I was right there – like it was my three fingers thrust inside your cunt while Bass stretched your pretty little ass almost beyond what you could bear. Christ, you two already do own me, are you kidding? I’m come a dozen times to the idea of Bass as far inside my body as he is under my skin. That singe of him stuffing you, that rush of fresh cum at your center – I want to feel it more than anything. I’m sick with distraction over how much I want your nails raking across my chest while he pounds me with unholy force. You could slide one of your perfect, ladylike fingers right up alongside Bass’ cock in my hole just as he finishes, and then you’d both slip out together on all that wetness. I’d be totally claimed.

Rachel, I need this right now, I have to come. I’m pushing two fingers in my ass as far as they’ll go and it scorches like hell, but it drives me crazy knowing Bass would be bigger, deeper and you – your hand is clenching my dick and wringing it out with all your strength and

Fuuuuuck. I got totally interrupted there. Cpl. Saunders knocked at my ambulance and I had to straighten myself up and hop out. I’m sure I looked – what’s that word? Chastened? Yeah, chastened as hell. My ears were burning when I had to return Saunders’ salute, knowing where my fingers had just been. I’m way too distracted to be leading troops right now. It’s undignified.

In any case, your mention of Bass at the end of your letter – the fact that he wants proof of my loyalty? Don’t tell him this, Rachel, but I am pretty damn apprehensive about coming home to him. It’s been nice and all to imagine the three of us together, but really, I’ve been picturing the old Bass. I hinted to you that he went through some grim shit after the Blackout. Well, he hasn’t been the same since. Or…that’s not quite right. Sometimes he is exactly my best friend of three decades, and other times it’s like he’s cut ties with some essential part of being human, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. And really, I’ve never told anyone this before and don’t you dare repeat it, but there’s always been something slightly off about Bass. It’s like he relies on me to tell him what’s right and wrong, and for all these years I thought I knew the answer. It even made me feel like his fucking hero, as arrogant as that sounds. And now? It’s just one hell of a responsibility.

I’m more anxious about this than ever, because it’s not just Bass relying on me now – it’s the entire Republic. And more personally, it’s one of my soldiers: Alec. I haven’t told you about him, and I can’t even explain why he’s so important to me except that I raised him up from a dumbass kid to a man I’m really proud of. He’s smart and talented, and well, right now he’s in Texas in grave danger because I put him there. I know what you mean about fearing for my safety every day, because I think about him all the time and wonder if he’s alive. I didn’t have to send him to the lions, but I did because he asked me to – wanted to prove himself a man. I can’t figure out if I did the right thing. No. I’m certain I did not.

It all makes me want to bury myself in your bed and never get out. I’m so damn tired of holding back from you, Rachel. And I’m so close to having you, finally. I’m sorry for the way I left you all those years ago when I was deploying for Iraq. I was and am a terribly selfish bastard. I know I can’t make up for it, but I was so desperate and fucked up back then, a cornered animal. I couldn’t admit it to anyone. All that dumb, twenty-five year old fuck up wanted was to be with you forever, to make a life together – with the house, the kids, everything. But when I woke up that last morning in your arms, I saw it all – how shitty a husband my drunken ass would make and how miserable a father to our kids – and I couldn’t do that to you. You deserved so much better. You deserved Ben. You still do, but now everything is so bad that it doesn’t matter. Because I’ll hold you and make you feel amazing, and we’ll figure out how to help Bass so that he doesn’t lose himself. The Republic can become something we’re all proud of. Yeah. You’re smart enough, Bass is devoted enough, and I can be our strength. I’ll do my best not to fail you again.

Yours,

Miles


	19. May 30, 2021: Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For these final chapters, we've transitioned from letters to first-person experience to reveal the mystery. This first Miles chapter is co-authored, and one of us - I won't incriminate them - may have argued at great length for the virtue of the final punctuation. ;)

Philadelphia: my city. My brain is probably just bullshitting me, but I imagine I can smell her before we’ve even reached the gates – the open fires and, this time of year, the blooming roses, and just the slightest tinge of sewage. Home. I can’t see any of it, of course – I’m stowed in my fucking circus wagon with my leg propped up on an ammo box. Each bump we absorb bludgeons my angry thigh. Can bone marrow ache? Mine does. I’m tired as hell of being wounded all the time. But in less than fifteen minutes, I can strip down to skin and get in as boiling a bath as I can stand – you know, right after I stop by Bass’ office and tell him I’m safe and sound, and hell, while I’m there, Rachel too. But who am I kidding? If I stop in her room, I won’t make it to the bath at all, and I smell like manure steeped in whiskey. Probably jizz too, and Bass’ll sniff that on me like a bloodhound. He loves shaming me too much to pass up the opportunity to point out my pathetic and lonely personal habits.

Bass’ jizz on Rachel’s creamy skin. Best not to think on that right now unless I want to execute my less-than-triumphant return with a glorious boner pressed up against my zipper. Well at least there won’t be any crowds of people to notice. No parades for losers.

A crisp knock and an: “Excuse me, sir – the city guards just want to poke their heads in to make sure it’s you.” 

I sigh even though it’s not fair. My rules, of course. Everybody’s following my rules.

“Yes. Tell them to go ahead.”

Christ, I sound pissy. And part of me is wondering if I can maybe rub one off before I actually make it to the Hall. I mean, what the hell is wrong with me? Am I fourteen? Cold showers. Fat ladies. Goddammit Matheson, just take a whiff of yourself – that’ll put you off sex for good.

It’s John Kaiser – he’s a sergeant now? – whose face appears between the back flaps. “Pardon me, sir. It’s good to see you. Welcome home.”

I wave at him – probably comes out as more of a wave _off_ , because I’m, you know, _such_ an agreeable commander – and then it’s Doc whose face looms, his tanned cheeks framing teeth that are almost as white as Bass’.

“Miles. I’m going to ride with you into town and have a look at that leg.”

I nod and almost grin as the ambulance gets rolling again. I can’t help myself. Doc is like my goddamn mother. He’s just more pleasant than other humans, and he’s saved my life more times than I have fingers to count. Well, Bass would insist I can’t count above my fingers, and he’s right that I don’t prefer to.

“Now general, be friendly and take off your pants for me” – such a sweet-talker with that Afghan lilt.

I snort and comply, since he asked so nicely. I’m not smiling anymore, however, when he pulls off the bandage below my underwear (which is plastered by sweat and grease to my leg hairs. Nice. How will Rachel possibly resist me?) It’s the yellow on the bandage that always turns my stomach – the mustard not the ketchup, Bass would say. It’s infected because I haven’t been cleaning myself properly. Doc’s clearly displeased by the wrinkle in his forehead.

“You could try a little harder to stay off it and keep it dry.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not _so_ bad, but any infection could turn dangerous in the Black. I really want you to stay off it now that you’re home. I can have some of the boys carry you to your room on a litter.”

“You’re joking right?”

“What if I just threw your crutches out the wagon and left you no choice?”

“I’d have you killed,” I say casually and yawn right on cue.

I really am tired, though. Bone weary. I haven’t slept more than a few hours at a time for over a month. My leg’s been uncomfortable and so have my thoughts. Who the fuck imagines himself in a three-way relationship with his ex-girlfriend-turned-prisoner and his _male_ best friend?

The ambulance halts for the last time, and suddenly my stomach appears to be trying to contort its way out of my esophagus. While doc is cleaning my wound with scalding liquid – it might as well be the acid that made the Joker’s face smile – I press the cool metal of my flask to my lips and toss back all the whiskey I can swallow without choking.

It’s the imminence of seeing them – that’s what has my insides in knots. For the life of me, I can’t think of a thing to say to either of them. My brain is a perfect blank. Well, that’s promising.

“Relax,” Doc urges with a gentle hand on my bare thigh, and he’s right – I’m practically gritting my teeth. “You really ought to be drinking water.”

I laugh briefly. “Come on, Doc. I have to keep the ratio right; I’m seventy-percent whiskey at this point.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t be oozing pus. You’re the worst patient in the world, and I’ve treated suicide bombers in Afghanistan.”

“Well, you love a challenge.”

We somehow get me back into my pants, and in a moment, Doc’s and Capt. Nelson’s hands are pulling me out of the ambulance by my elbows and onto my crutches. For a moment, I’m blinded by sunlight and then I’m taking in the familiar symmetries of Independence Hall, crowned by the Republic’s colors – the commanding peaks of that familiar M – flapping in the wind. Wind sounds so happy to me – always has – through flags, through the leaves of the poplars behind me. I inhale deeply of horseshit and straw, which oddly I don’t hate, and then limp and _thump_ my way through the front door.

Now it really hits me – the nerves. And when I take in the familiar staircase with all that robin’s-egg blue in late afternoon shadow, I gulp at the idea of climbing on my sore leg. But Bass and Rachel wait at the top as my prize. I pause at the landing to catch my breath, though I’ve only made it up one flight of stairs, and peer out the always-streaky windows at my wagon parked below on the cobblestones.

I’m panting and excessively sweaty by the time I knock on Bass’ office door in our familiar cadence. No response. It’s only then I lock eyes with Lt. Robinson and nod for him to step out of the way. I’m, in fact, the only person Bass’ guards would move aside for. As I throw open the double doors my heart actually skips a beat, even knowing Bass can’t be in here, or he would have invited me. The office is quiet and still, dust floating in the air, though his monstrous desk is strewn with paperwork I don’t even want to think about. Maybe it’s for the best that I’ll see her first. I glance down at the amount of mud I’m tracking in on my riding boots and hope she’s not completely revolted by me. One more set of double doors and a swallow of bile, and here goes.

I squint against the brightness of her room – walls yellow, bathed in afternoon sun and her hair spun-gold as she stares out the window with her back to me.  I’m more aware than ever of my filth and my handicap, but I’m magnetized to her, craving her silk waves between my fingers, so I lay aside my crutches and hobble to her with what little dignity I can muster. Even though I’ve nearly tripped over the rug by the time I reach her, I’m grinning like an utter fool. I even try pulling the sides of my mouth down, but they just drift right back up.

She turns slowly (I hope it’s not reluctance – just nerves like me). She’s barefoot, and her white robe clings to her. When she casts her eyes on me, usually pools of perfect blue, they’re stormy and red-rimmed. So she’s still sad. Oh Rachel. I wish I could take away her pain, but instead I draw her against my chest, momentarily forgetting how rancid my uniform must smell, and stroke her blonde head indulgently, as sleek as I remember. 

I’m getting weirdly choked up, but the fact that I’m holding her at long last is too much for me to process. Blood rushes to my groin, and my hand is actually shaking as I tilt up her chin toward my face and find real tears seeping down her cheeks. Her fists grip my biceps, and I can’t tell if they’re pulling or pushing me. I bury my lips in hers, parting them gently with my tongue, as my hand slides down her graceful neck. I’m just about to reconfirm the intoxicating softness of her breast, when she thrusts me back with both hands.

Her lips are pressed tightly together and she stares up at me, like she’s trying to hold something back.

“Miles –” Her voice trembles, and she draws a shaky breath. One tear traces the curve of her lips, as she runs a hand through her hair. I waver slightly, grabbing the edge of the window for support without my crutches, at a loss for what she wants.

Finally, she sinks onto the window seat, hands in her lap, and says with a heavy, wrenching sigh, “I missed you.” 

I smile again in relief. My grubby fingers brush the hair off her shoulder, and I freeze, just as she adds, “But I can't do this.”

The words alone would be enough to stop my heart, after she’s teased me for months, and I’ve made a goddamn fool of myself a dozen times over, but I’m more fixated on the green and purple bruise painted across her skin. A few seconds pass before I can force myself to move again, yanking the robe down her bare shoulder (and fuck, that means she isn’t wearing anything underneath). The bruise decorates her entire shoulder and, now that I’m looking for it, the base of her throat, like somebody dug their thumb in there and squeezed.

“What the hell is this?” I growl, unable to tear my eyes away. “Did he do this to you?”

Rachel tries unsuccessfully to brush me away and ends up leaning against my arm instead when I won’t budge. “Did you hear me?” she snaps, though the effect is somewhat dulled by tears I don’t quite understand. “I can't do this.”

“Why did he hurt you?”

“Because we fought and…” She appears to choke on her own words. “Have you ever betrayed someone?”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and try not to think about the answer to her question, about why she would ask it in the first place. I drop to my knees, unable to stand any longer without help, and lean into her, wanting to just bury my head in her lap and be told everything’s going to be okay, but it never is.

Her palm grazes my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek like I’m a child, and my hands involuntarily clamp onto her thighs. She takes a deep breath through her nose as if bracing for something and wets her lips, hair falling in her face.

“It was all a lie.” Her voice cracks, and then it’s silent in the room, save the blood churning in my head and an insolent bird chirping outside.

_It was all a lie._


	20. May 30, 2021: Rachel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Fair warning on some triggery language, violence and Stockholm.

I’ve agonized for days about this moment. I stood by the window and watched the ambulance drive up. I watched him get out and hobble stubbornly to the door on crutches. But somehow, having Miles kneeling in front of me, dirty and exhausted and in pain, but with that little spark of hope in his dark eyes, it’s even more difficult to tell him the truth than I imagined.

Because it’s _me_ that has to snuff out that spark. Has Miles ever even _felt_ hope before?

His hands tighten on my legs and I realize I’ve just been sitting here staring at him, the words still bitter and rancid on my tongue: _it was all a lie._

It’s not true, really. It wasn’t _all_ a lie. But enough of it was. I swallow hard, my mouth dry and cottony.

“ _What_ was a lie? _Specifically?_ ” he demands, and it’s only fair. I squint, thinking back over our months of letters and trying to discern how many times I manufactured the truth for him.

“There was more truth than fiction,” I manage finally, scraping my nails through the stubble on his cheek. “When I first wrote to you, I really was bored and lonely. I really did-” I bite my lip, feeling my breath hitch at what I’m about to say and watching him squeeze his eyes shut. “-touch myself, thinking of you. Bass really is paranoid, and he really did take me to the memorial. I-”

He bangs a fist into the window seat beside me. “What was a _lie?_ ”

I draw my hand back, trembling slightly. I don’t want to tell him, I don’t want to shatter this fragile thing we’ve built between us, but it’s way too late for that. I suck in a deep breath, tears stinging my eyes again, with the last round barely dry on my cheeks.

“Captain Lennox never passed our letters; it was unnecessary because Bass knew all along. The lie was so you’d feel comfortable talking about him.” I drop my eyes to our hands, his, large and dirty against the white cotton of my robe, mine, small and pale and knotted together. “I never slept with Bass. And I never kept anything from him.”

It’s the last one that will destroy us. All of us.

Miles shrinks back from me, and my heart seizes. He _hates_ me. _Of course_ he hates me.

“You _bitch_ ,” he chokes out finally, stumbling to his feet and grabbing the post of my bed for balance, still unable to stand by himself.

“No, Miles, please-” I grab for his hand, squeezing his fingers as hard as I can, as if I can make him stay with me. “You don’t understand-”

“What else is there to understand? My best friend and- _you_ \- conspired against me! And for _what?_ ” He sounds so distraught, so betrayed. “Some juicy _gossip?_ ”

I shake my head fiercely, tugging on his hand. “Please, please let me explain. Sit.” I nod to the open seat beside me, though the way he flinches in my grip makes me think some part of him would rather backhand me.

We stand there at an impasse for almost longer than I can handle before he moves to sit, staring at me. Reluctant. Expectant.

I draw my knees up to my chest, hugging them to me and chewing on my lip. “Bass came to me at the beginning of February with a request,” I begin but scoff, unable to stop myself. “Well, I say ‘request.’ A demand. And it came with incentive.”

_February 2, 2021_

_I’m sitting by the fire, a blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders and_ A Wrinkle in Time _propped open on my lap. I think I’ve read the last sentence ten times when a knock on my door startles me back into awareness._

_“Come in,” I call, though that’s such a farce: we both know the door is locked from the outside._

_Bass walks in, boots clicking on the hardwood and shuts the door behind him. I spare him a glance, judging his mood: he looks grim but pleased with himself and that’s always a bad combination._

_“Rachel.”_

_I toss my book aside, lifting an eyebrow at him. “What do you want?”_

_He grits his teeth, sinking into the chair beside me and resting a hand against his chin. “Why do you assume I want something?”_

_“Because you only come in here if you want something: company, answers. A fight.” Bass has dropped in on me just to pick a fight more than once. He’s a coward that way, baiting me when he knows damn well he can’t lose._

_He draws a deep breath through his nose, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepening as he holds back a glare. “Well, you’re wrong. I don’t want this, but I’m afraid it’s the only way.”_

_For a moment I think he finally means to torture me, or worse, but he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and takes my hand. “I need you to write to Miles.”_

_It’s not even remotely what I was expecting. “-what?”_

_“He’s pussyfooted his way through Canada for too many months now. It’s downright suspicious, and I’m afraid he isn’t as loyal to me as he once was. But you… you can get the truth out of him.” Bass sounds positively broken up about this, and it’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes._

_“Not a chance in hell. Do you think I have a death wish? I’m not going to spy on Miles and take a bullet for_ you _when he finds out.”_

_Bass wets his lips, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. “I thought you might say that.” He digs into his pocket and, pulling out a rolled piece of paper, hands it over._

_I wrench my hand back from his, unrolling the paper and scanning it._

January 24, 2021

Dear Mr. President:

My men and I have Willoughby, Texas, under 24-hour surveillance. We have located the targets. I train my sniper team daily and await your orders to carry out their objectives.

On a personal note, this new mission contradicts my orders from Miles, and I’m concerned he’ll be displeased with me. You’ve told him I’m been reassigned in Texas, I hope? I don’t want to let him down.

Be assured, I am ready to fulfill your orders at a moment’s notice.

Very respectfully,  
Alec

_The air leaves my lungs like he’s sucker-punched me and my eyes dart up to his. “How dare you,” I breathe even though it sounds a bit naïve. I start to stand instinctively, the blanket slipping from my shoulders, but Bass forces me back down with one hand._

_“Right now, your parents are alive and well. And you can keep them that way if you just do me this one little favor.” He always manages to make a threat sound so casual._

_“They don’t- They don’t have anything to do with this! You can’t_ do _that, Bass. Texas is a sovereign nation; they won’t hesitate to bring your men to justice. It’s a suicide mission and for what? Because- Because you’re- How can you threaten them? They’re_ innocent! _” I’m just babbling now. I don’t really know that much about post-Blackout Texas, but if it’s anything like pre-Blackout Texas, that sounds about right._

_His hand slides up from my shoulder to cup my cheek. “I’m not going to hurt them,” he murmurs in that soft, gentle voice he gets when he knows you’re on the hook. “Not if you do this one thing for me.”_

_I crunch the report in my hand, jaw clenching. The fire crackles, and I feel the heat on my face. “Fine._ Fine _. God, you son of a bitch. I can’t imagine why Miles would be questioning his loyalty to you.” I don’t regret snapping at him, (I’ve never held my tongue for him before), even though he pats my cheek in an almost-slap for it as he stands._

_“Good. You’ll write to him tomorrow.”_

_He’s almost to the door when I twist in my chair, calling after him. “Bass, wait. If I’m going to do this, I need you to give me privacy.”_

_“No.” The answer comes sharp and abrupt, and my lips press into a tight frown. “I don’t trust you as far as I could flick you. You’re not getting unregulated access to Miles, not a chance.”_

_I stand out of my chair, crossing my arms and leaving the blanket behind even as I shiver from the loss. “You’re right. I can get the truth out of him. But if he really is questioning his loyalty, he’s not going to breathe a word of it if he thinks you could be looking over my shoulder.”_

_Bass looks disgruntled, shuffling his feet and clenching the doorknob in his fist, but only because he knows I’m right. “Fine,” he mutters finally. “Whatever lovesick bullshit you exchange, you can keep to yourselves. But I expect full reports on everything relevant after each letter.”_

_It’s a tiny win, but I celebrate it with an extra glass of wine at dinner anyway._

There’s so much more to tell Miles, but I pause there, lifting my eyes to his from beneath arched, pleading eyebrows. Miles seems no less stricken than when I first blurted out the truth, but I still have his attention so that’s something.

“You told him everything,” he mumbles finally, and he sounds so miserable, I want to just take him in my arms.

How twisted is that? I’m a classic case of Stockholm, I guess, but I wish I could make all his pain go away. I’ve always wished that. Maybe if I’d ever been successful, we wouldn’t be here now.

“Not at first.” I scrape a nail against my cuticle, zeroing in on this tiny part of myself like I can ignore the rest. “I told him about Canada, about Harvey.” He jumps at that and it makes my heart ache because I know how much he didn’t want Bass to have the truth but at this point, I’ve betrayed his trust in far worse ways. “About how Lennox’s son died. But he kept his promise and never pressed me on anything else.”

Miles is staring at the edge of the rug, hands limp in his lap like he’s not quite sure what to do with them. “So what changed?”

The words stick in my throat but I force them out. “You said you were coming home.”

_May 27, 2021_

_I turn the knob to Bass’ office experimentally and draw a shallow breath as it pushes in. He’s been leaving his office unlocked for me more and more often. I think he’s lonely, though that train of thought only leads me down the dark path I’ve forged with Miles, and I have to dig my nails into the palm of my hand, force my thoughts elsewhere. I step inside; he’s at his desk, the windows cracked so a fresh breeze blows through._

_Bass glances up at me, the lamp on his desk warm and bright in the early dusk. He does a double-take, no doubt at how wrecked and disheveled I must look. I feel like I’ve been crying for a week. No, it’s probably been even longer than that._

_“What’s wrong?” he asks and I can never quite tell if that’s concern or dismissal in his voice._

_I run my fingers through my hair, grip tightening at the crown of my head. “I need to talk to you,” I manage, voice thick with the tears I’ve hidden from him for days._

_He finishes signing his name to something on the desk and pushes his chair back, motioning me over. My slacks swish in the quiet room, the hardwood cold on my bare feet before I lift myself onto the edge of his desk. I’ve sat here many times before, particularly in the last few months, with a glass of wine or whiskey dangling from my hand. But this is different. And he knows it._

_His long fingers brush my cheek, cupping my jaw. “What is it, Rachel?”_

_I bite back tears, determined not to cry in front of him though it wouldn’t be the first time. I may have made up the sex, but Bass really did hold me the day we told Captain Lennox his son was dead, and I really did cry until I thought there couldn’t be a drop of water left in me. “Do you remember,” I ask, “when you said I didn’t have to tell you everything Miles and I talked about?”_

_I can feel his eyes grow cold without even looking. “Yes.”_

_Hesitation almost overwhelms me but I push ahead, knowing it won’t get any easier the longer I wait. “I took it too far. And now Miles is coming home and everything’s so fucked up and I have to face what I’ve done,” I say in a rush, heart racing._

_I don’t know how I thought this was going to end, but I never imagined it would hurt so much. I think he knows about the fantasies we shared early on, or at least he suspects, but he doesn’t care. He said once that Miles had always wanted to waste his life inside me, and though I was rather offended at the time, I realize now that wasn’t how he meant it._

_But there’s a difference between writing fantasies with my old flame and dragging his best friend into it. I’ve been living with the guilt for weeks, for_ months _, because the moment I handed over that first letter back in April, the one with all those lies about me and Bass, I regretted it. That’s the thing about lies: it’s a cliché, but they require more and more lies to support them._

_It all spills out of me unchecked: the fantasies about Bass I billed as fact, the intimacy I invented between us. I can’t quite read his face for once, but he doesn’t seem angry until I get to the part about Miles’ return from Afghanistan. Bass sits forward and I flinch, knowing he knows what’s coming. I try to skim through it but he stands, not quite towering over me the way Miles would but his fists planted on either side of me are intimidating enough._

_“He told you that?” he asks slowly, mouth set in a tight, furious line even as a blush spreads beneath the collar of his uniform._

_I spin my wedding ring mindlessly, trying to look everywhere but his face. “It gets worse,” I mumble, miserable. It gets so much worse. “After he told me all of that, I used it. Used you. At first it was fifteen years of curiosity but then it got out of hand. I twisted everything you did. Made him believe you wanted him.” My voice trails off and I’m staring into the desk lamp, the brightness stinging my eyes._

_At first I'm ensconced in silence, which can't be good because Bass has a temper and an impulse control problem, but then he’s physically shaking me out of my thoughts. It’s forceful and brutal and that just makes so much more sense._

_"What the fuck do you mean, I_ want _him? What did you say to him?"_

 _I press my lips together. There’s no point in being coy or subtle, not now. "That I suspected you were using me as a proxy for him. That I’d_ always _suspected you were in love with him.”_

_"You-” His gasp is choked off, strangled. “You conniving cunt-” He drags me off his desk, slamming me up against the wall, marble and molding digging into my back._

_(And isn’t that just ironic, the same wall he threw me up against in my letters.)_

_The tears are streaming down my cheeks now and not from the pain, though his hand is clenched at my shoulder, thumb wrapped up into the hollow of my throat so it’s hard to breathe. I can’t follow everything he’s growling at me, though I catch:_

_“I always knew it would be you to come between us” and “He must hate me. He must be_ disgusted. _You lying-”_

 _I fist my hands in his lapels, rattling him. “Bass,_ wait _, you don’t understand!” I cry finally, trying to get myself under control. “He wanted it too!”_

_He stills, his ability to switch between emotions in a blink as unnerving as ever. I shrug him off given the opportunity, gasping for air and rubbing at my shoulder. “He told me that story because he felt something for you. I don’t think he knew it until now but he’s always wanted you. And now he thinks you want him too.”_

_Bass stumbles back slightly, falling into his chair with a squeak and groan of leather, facing away from me so I can just see the curve of his mouth. I tell him how our fantasies turned from me describing Bass inside me to Miles telling me how much he wanted both of us. How much he wanted to wrap me in his arms and let Bass fuck him from behind._

_Bass is turning red but it’s not anger now, at least, not at Miles. I can’t quite tell if he’s humiliated or turned on. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. When I’m done, I stand there, my back still pressed to the fireplace, the room silent except for the hissing of the hurricane lamp._

_“Get out,” he mutters finally, long fingers clenching and unclenching into fists, his elbows braced on the arms of the chair. I think I hear tears in his voice and I can’t decide if it’s heart-wrenching or just a tiny bit gratifying. “Now.”_

_I scramble from the office, my shoulder aching and the weight of my guilt somehow even heavier. I shut my door behind me and sink down against it, just as miserable as I was an hour ago, before I spilled a confession to make Mata Hari blush._

So there it is. I screwed us _all_ over, because there at the end, some part of me ached for the world Miles imagined for us. I knew, of course, when he dreamt it up that it would never happen. I may suspect Bass really is attracted to Miles or even that he’s attracted to me by extension, but I’ll never know the truth. Especially not now. I can’t imagine any of us happy and I can’t begin to speculate whether our three heads together could fix this mess of a government they’ve mired themselves in.

Miles tried to tell me the Blackout couldn’t have been my fault, (oh, if only he knew). That the U.S. was up to _all kinds of shadowy shit_ , I think he put it. But this _Republic_ of theirs is far more shadowed and cruel, if only because it exists out of the minds of two soldiers who simply didn’t know what to do with themselves without a war to fight.

And yet none of that makes me want his invented version of us any less.

He’s still sitting there staring at the floor, I realize suddenly, lost in my own tangled, tearful thoughts. He smells terrible and his uniform looks like it needs to be burnt. He came straight up here to see me, and I broke him.

“Say something,” I beg finally, my voice barely a whisper. “Please.”

 


	21. May 30, 2021: Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you, readers, for coming along on this ride and being so lovely and devoted! We’re very sad to see this end and the ending is, well, exceedingly tragic. In our state of extreme feels about our darlings – Rachel, Miles, and Bass – we want you to know how deeply we love all three of them, even though they are massive f-ups. If you are wondering, since you didn’t get to see inside Bass’ head, Bass has always loved Miles, and the fact that Rachel, of all people, unwittingly outed that love broke him. All three of them would have been quite happy – or as happy as they _can_ be – to live out Miles’ fantasy of knocking boots and ruling the Republic together. Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.
> 
> We would also specifically like to thank maywitch/remainvanishing for creating the most fabulous gif set ever for us, based on Bass and Rachel’s interactions in this fic. We love you, bb! Check it out here: http://duncanpage.tumblr.com/post/76860538979/bass-is-always-nearby-with-his-office-attached
> 
> As you suffer Miles’ epic self-pity, I apologize for his language, which is, at times, very offensive. This chapter is potentially triggery for torture, suicidal thoughts, and struggles with sexual orientation. Everyone please deal responsibly with Miles’ messed up psyche and give yourself a big hug for making it through this. You deserve it. :)

“Say something. Please,” comes her voice from what seems very far off, but I can’t stop staring at a rectangle of wooden floor, the only seam holding me together.

Now the numbness starts to melt off like hot wax, and this is always the most dangerous moment. I broke a little with Bass when he first learned he lost Gail and William and the girls, because they were my family too. I broke _completely_ under torture in Afghanistan when a man ripped me open with the butt of his rifle, and I begged him to let me die. I know myself when I break. But I will not give Rachel the satisfaction of seeing me in pieces. 

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth like I’m slowing my heart rate for a kill. If Bass were here – the _old_ Bass, the one before Rachel completely fucked over the only relationship I’ve ever been able to count on – he’d be scanning the field for us, measuring the wind, locking in on our target. He would be my calm and my focus. Stand up, Matheson. Be a man.

And I’ve done it. I’m on my feet. Maybe she can’t tell I’m shaking. Now meet her eyes, the astounding blue – so clear but so full of lies and…pain. How much must she _hate_ me to have ruined me like this? But that line of thought doesn’t serve my one purpose: to walk out of this room intact. I swallow the ball in my throat and hold her gaze, pretending I have some speck of dignity left, when we both know I don’t.

I imagine my voice like a seesaw, steady it, and finally say, “Well. I hope you’ve enjoyed your revenge, because you’re going to spend the rest of your life regretting it. Deeply.”

If you asked me what I said to her, I wouldn’t even be able to remember. But I know it was ruthless, and it sucks the oxygen out of her room and Bass’ office, as I tramp my retreat.

My face is twitching violently, testing the limits of my control. I blow by Lt. Robinson, who says something I can’t process as English. By the time I fling open and slam the double doors to my room, I realize I’ve left behind my crutches and have strode able-bodied all the way here on adrenaline. Christ, it’s like I’ve been in combat. My heart is pounding, and I’m drenched in cold sweat, leaning heavily back against the door.

I reach down to pull off my boots, and fuck, the pain of my infection re-engages my nerves with searing efficiency. I’m barely hanging on to my composure, when I catch sight of the painting I nicked for Rachel – the bluish-green trees, jarringly tranquil. One of my staff thought to bring it up and prop it against the wall. I bite my lip against a tremor. I’m going to have to give in soon, but my room just has to be inches away from Bass’ office guard. I can’t let anyone hear me like this – not their commanding officer. I shove my knuckles in my mouth in preparation and start dry-sobbing at first. Despite my efforts, it’s already fucking loud. Take it down a notch, you pussy. The wetness starts to catch up then, too. I try to figure out how to pull off my filthy, disintegrating uniform with only one hand, while the other remains jammed up in my teeth, almost gagging myself.

In only my sweat-soiled underwear, I face plant on my bed. The underwear’s probably dirtier than the clothes I’ve discarded, but I already feel so damn naked, I can’t bear to strip down any further.

And then I’m ambushed by all the thoughts I’ve been holding back. There is the confirmation that Bass is totally cracked – would even go so far as to use Alec against me to coerce proof of my loyalty. When I send trusted men to Texas to safeguard the Republic, Bass redeploys them against me. Welcome to Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love.

Then there’s Rachel. My lips tremble so hard my teeth chatter. I’ve always been dangerously consumed by my feelings for her. Even now, after all her treachery, I think I could be persuaded to sell my kingdom for just one more chance at burying myself in her, inhaling her sweetness. When it comes to Rachel, I make Bass’ crazy look trivial.

Now Rachel just leads me in an endless loop back to Bass, since that’s how she dismantled and rewired me. Admitting even to myself that I want Bass in that way wrenched me open like a goddamn specimen on a table, but exposing that to Rachel? How naïve could I possibly be? And what must Bass think of me, his pathetic faggot of a best friend? He’s probably too ashamed to see me. That’s why he wasn’t in his office when he knew damn well I was coming home. He’s never not been there to greet me, embrace me, after a campaign. Now he’ll never touch me again. He won’t even be able to look at me. I am disgusting.

I’m also a coward, so I think about it for a split second – the pistol I keep in my drawer. Bass has thought about it more than once. Rachel, too. I could do it. I could reach across my bed to my nightstand, feel around for cold metal – that gun’s always loaded – and unclick the safety, aim straight for my cerebellum. None of that bullshit they used to show on TV – pointing the gun straight up your chin. No, you always aim for the back and bottom of your head – that’s what knocks you out. It’d be painless. But I suppose, unlike Bass and Rachel, my narcissism is too great. Even if I have to shimmy my wretched ass out the second floor of this building and run away from everything – my militia, my Republic, the only two people I’ve ever loved – I’d probably do that before offing myself.

I’m repelled by the sound of myself, sobbing into my fist and my pillow, drowning in salt and bile. I’m truly a sick human, and the world would be better off if I weren’t in it. But I refuse to do the world that big a favor – we’ve established that now. So what do you do, when you’ve completely fucked over every single thing in your life, and you’ve no one to blame but yourself? Oh I _want_ to blame her, was pitiless to her. But she played my Brutus, because I brought her to Philadelphia when I should have let her go.

Only now does the look she gave me as I left her really sink in. Terrified, pleading like I was about to stomp her neck. It doesn’t matter. I can’t think about her right now. It’s _him_ that I have to think about – him that’s not a phantom in my head sent from the past to torment me. I made him my entire world when we built the Republic, and we, together, are the world for tens of thousands.

I’m so lost in my head and hobbled by my own convulsions that I don’t hear it – the door unlatch. But I do feel the familiar warmth of smooth palm stretched into calloused fingers on my bare back. Christ, it’s him. No one else shares the privilege of letting himself into my room. He’s…touching me. I don’t want to say it’s an ember of hope exactly – it’s not. It’s more like I wonder if what Rachel just told me was also a lie – that somehow _everything_ is a lie, and it’s impossible for anyone to figure out, so maybe Bass is just touching me out of mutual confusion.

I sniff and try to suck in, because I hate when he sees me cry and this was bad. I’m not sure I’ve ever been that unhinged. As I turn slowly from my arm, it feels like someone has blackened both my eyes, and I can barely squint. But then the blue irises waver into focus. They could be hers or his – I wonder wildly if there is any difference between the two of them. I wonder how I could love two people so much and yet fail them so utterly. I wonder why after thirty-plus years of friendship, I can’t read the blisteringly bright eyes in front of me at all. All our pain was shared until this moment. But she took that away from us. No, we took that away from each other.

The thing we had – the real _and_ the imagined parts – is over. For good.


End file.
